


Come To Me

by kk050300



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Boys In Love, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Gay Sex, Happy Ending, Incomplete, M/M, Minor Character Death, My First Smut, My First Work in This Fandom, Past Domestic Violence, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-05-18 18:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14857766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kk050300/pseuds/kk050300
Summary: Dean Winchester is a notorious assassin among the crime community, while Castiel Novak is a broke college student trying to blend in until graduation. Dean and Cas find a companionship in one another that neither has ever known, and both doubt they will ever encounter again. But when plans fail, and it truly becomes the two of them against the world. . . will they be enough for one another?"They have all kinds of pills to make your body go numb, but there isn't a single one to make your thoughts turn to whispers. But, when you're in love, you don't really need a pill."





	1. The Beginning: Part One

_you were you,_

_and I was I;_

_we were two,_

_before our time._

 

_I was yours,_

_before I knew;_

_and you have always_

_been mine too._

\- Lang Leav

 

_**November 2006** _

 

When Dean first laid eyes on him, he knew.

This is it. This is him.

The man he'd been looking for, who he'd been seeking out for months.

Official Name: Dylan Cartwright.

Code Name: Leopard Spot.

Dean smirked as he loitered between the shelves of the fiction aisle, pretending to browse the titles, looking instead at his assignment. He watched like an eagle, stalking his prey, observing wordlessly, taking mental notes of everything about him. His eyes, the way he walks with a confidence reserved only for men who deserve to be slaughtered. What business Cartwright has in a library, Dean hasn't a clue, but he isn't being paid to know his target's secrets and what they do in their free-time; it's his job to observe and assassinate without drawing attention to himself.

Dean is good at his job, and everyone knows it. Well, everyone who's unlucky enough to know his name. The wall street bankers, the stock market scammers, the big business victimizers; they're all ahead, so they all have people out for them. They have enemies, and if those enemies are cruel enough, they just might put a price tag on someone's head, and they come to Dean to carry out the dirty work.

It's not exactly the kindest work, to put it simply, but Dean's always known that he would never have a normal job, a normal life. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

He continues to stalk his target, making mental notes of his height, his weight, his hair color, the way he walks, everything he can. He stores in his mind what books Cartwright picks up, what faces he makes, how his eyebrows furrow and his hands clench around the spines.

Dylan rounds the corner to the aisle Dean is in, so he quickly shuffles away. He pushes his back against the other side of the bookshelf, wondering if Cartwright had seen him. He takes a deep breath to steady his pulse, and peers through the shelves at his target. His back is to Dean, but he's apparently transfixed on the summary of some other book. He pushes it unceremoniously back onto the shelf and turns on his heel to round the corner onto Dean's aisle again. Dean darts out the other side, his heart racing, like a child playing a game of hide and seek.

The tables around the big room are all full of people of all ages, most of them with their noses in books. He searches the tables for a split second, deciding which one to choose before striding over to a relatively reserved one with a single man, seemingly invested in a large hardcover.

Dean pulls the chair back cautiously before dropping into it, his eyes never leaving the man's dark, nearly black hair. It looks as if he'd done it neat this morning, but he's been running his fingers through it ever since. He still hadn't noticed Dean sitting across from him.

He looks around for Dylan, but sees no sign of him.

"Hi," Dean says abruptly with a smirk.

The man flinches and drops his book, which slaps down hard onto the tabletop. Dean presses his lips together and closes his eyes.

"Hello," the other man says hesitantly. Dean pushes open his eyelids, only to meet the gaze of the man across from him. His eyes were a dazzling shade of blue, a shade Dean couldn't possibly specify. They looked more like ocean waves than regular blue eyes.

When Dean doesn't respond, the man continues, still hesitant, "can I help you?"

A strange feeling was tickling Dean's stomach, and he was enraptured in it. He lifts an eyebrow, looking at the man but focusing on the feeling. It's like a butterfly trying to eat away the lining of his stomach. He couldn't find the word, and he filed it along with the man's eyes, somewhere in the back of his mind with the other things he couldn't place.

Dean blinks a few times and licks his lips, regaining his composure. "Yeah-" he clears his throat "-yeah, can I sit here?"

The dark-haired man looks around questioningly as if waiting to be told he's the victim of an elaborate prank.

"Well, I don't suppose I have much of a choice," he replies in a gruff, gravelly voice that makes Dean feel some kind of way. He chuckles, "I just couldn't help noticing you sitting here all alone."

The man squints his eyes at Dean, his hands in his lap, seeming stiff. "I don't mind being alone."

"I'm sorry, if I'm bothering you I can just-" Dean moves to push himself out of his chair, but the man grabs his wrist across the circle table. Goosebumps erupt on Dean's forearm, and he stops in his tracks, looking at the man's hand on his wrist.

He takes his hand back, looking apologetic, slightly embarrassed, "no, it's okay," he looks at Dean with hooded eyes, "I'm sorry for coming off rude." He seems to relax a bit as Dean pulls his chair back into the table, then folds his hands together, leaning into them.

"No big deal, you don't have to get all hot and bothered," Dean winks at him playfully, leaning back into his chair and crossing his arms.

He doesn't appear fazed by Dean's cool demeanor. He squints the slightest, trying to read him, but otherwise stays silent.

Dean breaks it by asking, "you got a name?" He reaches into the inside pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He brings one to his lips and lifts his eyes to his tablemate, who looks appalled by his actions.

"You can't smoke in here, this is a library!" he hisses at Dean, leaning forward and looking around wildly.

Dean smiles, the cigarette dangling from his lips, a wolfish grin. "My apologies." He pushes it back into the case and returns his attention back to the man, who still looks surprised. He's probably confused by Dean's laidback personality. He seems a bit uptight, which might be why Dean enjoys watching him. He's practically the opposite of him.

"You still haven't told me your name," Dean breaks the silence again.

"Castiel," he replies simply.

Dean smiles at him, chuckling a bit. "Man, your parents must've hated you."

He rolls his eyes, "yeah, they did, actually. But I prefer Cas."

He rolls the nickname off his tongue breathily, "Cas."

Castiel looks at him with a raised eyebrow, almost appearing cocky.

"Let's hear yours, then."

Dean smirks at him. "It's Dean," he stretches his arm across the table, "nice to meet you."

Cas smirks back, then leans forward and grabs Dean's hand, shaking it, "pleasure's all mine."

They hold on a bit longer than any normal handshake would last. Dean's sure about Cas now; he had his suspicions when they first started talking, but now he's sure of it. This boy is so undeniably gay that it makes the corners of Dean's mouth lift and refuse to come down.

"What are you smiling about?" Cas inquires with a head tilt.

Dean smiles wider, looks down at the table and shakes his head, "nothing," he pauses a second, but Cas doesn't speak, so he continues, "I'm just wondering what you'd say if I asked to see you again." He looks up at Cas, who's slightly taken aback.

"We've just met and you're already asking me out," he states the question incredulously.

Dean meets his gaze, steady and unblinking. "Is that your final answer?"

Cas rolls his eyes again, smirking, and replies jokingly, "you could be a psycho murderer for all I know."

Dean blinks, his blood running cold. He falters, thinking of his profession. Of what he's doing at the library in the first place.

Of how Cas is exactly right.

He snaps out of it, and Cas doesn't seem to notice his moment of hesitation. He chuckles, pulling himself back to reality. He plays it off and smirks, "am I that intimidating?"

Cas raises an eyebrow, pretending to ponder the question, "not in the slightest."

Dean grins at him, and Castiel smiles back, and the silence is breathtaking. Not awkward, or uncomfortable. It feels natural. Peaceful.

"Give me your number," Dean commands, leaning into the table. Cas just chuckles and looks to the ground, his arms crossed lightly over his chest. When he doesn't respond, Dean continues, "let me take you out."

"What makes you think I'm into guys?" he asks seriously.

Dean laughs, and responds sincerely, "because it's obvious." Cas doesn't break his gaze, and stays silent. "You might not even be into all guys, but you're definitely into me," Dean continues confidently, winking at Cas.

His cheeks light up scarlet, and a small smile sits on his lips, "that's very bold of you."

Dean responds by sliding his phone across the table with a raised eyebrow.

Cas adds his number to Dean's phone, with Dean staring at him the whole time, observing. When he'd finished, Dean smirks and stands, "I've gotta get going, but by all means, enjoy the rest of your alone time. I'll pick you up at seven." He turns to leave, but Cas stops him, "what, tonight?"

"Yes, tonight, I'll pick you up at seven," he repeats.

Cas looks more confused than he has this whole time. "What- ya- you don't even know where I live," he stammers.

Dean smirks, "I'll figure it out." He winks, and with a swish of leather, leaves Cas to wonder who this crazy son of a bitch thinks he is.

Dean wanders out into the parking lot, trying to refocus his attention on the target he was supposed to be following. He went to the library to kill a man and picked one up instead. He chuckles to himself and shakes his head. He searches around for Cartwright's car, and finds that it's still parked on the left of the library. Dean squints at the light glinting off the brilliant red Subaru, putting his hand up to cover his face as he slowly walks up to it. He touches the hood, noticing it's warm. It's just been running. He spins around, searching for Dylan; he must have just abandoned his car when he saw Dean come out of the library. He had known Dean was following him.

He spots a man pacing quickly away, around the side of the building, heading towards the back. Dean starts to jog after him, and when his target disappears around the corner, he picks up the pace. He turns into a back alley, and Cartwright is just a hundred feet ahead of him.

"Hey!" Dean yells at his back. Cartwright turns his head, then bolts down the alley at a sprint. Dean takes off, gaining on him with every step. A small black car pulls up at the end of the alley, certainly a getaway for Cartwright. Dean is breathing heavily, sweating his ass off in jeans and a leather jacket, but is determined to finish the job. At just a few feet behind him, Dean leaps forward, tackling his target to the ground. Dean flips him onto his back and takes a knee over his middle. He doesn't hesitate to pull his gun and hold it to Cartwright's head, right at his temple. He's about to squeeze the trigger when a voice interrupts him.

"Freeze!" Dean lifts his eyes to see the driver of the getaway car walking towards him cautiously, his own gun raised at Dean. "Drop the gun." The man says sternly when he's only a few paces away. He stops, waiting for Dean to act.

"Drop the gun or I swear I'll blow your fucking brains out, Winchester."

Dean exasperatedly drops his gun and it clatters to the ground. Cartwright moves out from underneath him, smiling victoriously. Dean can't help but smile back.

How cute; he thinks he's won.

"Poor little Dean Winchester, can't even carry out a simple mission, and now he's gonna die for it," Cartwright makes a pouty face. "As if I didn't know you were after me."

His getaway driver moves closer, "put your hands on your head."

Dean complies, and the driver walks around behind him, never lowering his gun. Dean keeps his gaze steady on Cartwright, his jaw set, murder in his eyes. The second the driver touches Dean's wrist, he reacts. He twists his wrists so the palms of his hands are backward, and he latches onto the driver's right forearm. He uses all his strength to heave the man around to his front, pulling his weight half over his shoulder, half around in a circle. If he'd been standing rather than kneeling, he may have been able to pull the man over his shoulder, but without the help of his leg muscles, this half move will have to do.

The driver lands on his back with a thud, most likely knocking the wind out of him, and Dean snaps the gun out of his hand. He doesn't hesitate to put a bullet in the driver's forehead before looking up to find Cartwright yet again. He'd taken off towards the car, but there was no way he'd be quick enough to outrun a bullet. Dean aims down the sight, inhales sharply, finding the back of his target's head, then pulls the trigger. Dylan collapses milliseconds after Dean fires.

The silence consumes the air, and Dean walks to Cartwright's unmoving body. He prods it with his toe, and the corpse remains still. A sliver of blood was making its way down the paved road, which will surely be forming a nice pool of red soon enough.

Dean takes off in the direction in which he'd come, turning out of the alley and walking nonchalantly. He heads for the Impala and opens the trunk, dropping the driver's gun into the back. He gets into the driver's side and starts her up, then pulls out his phone to call Bobby.

"Hey, Bobby. Cartwright's done, but a clean-up crew is gonna be necessary."

"I'll get on it. Well done, son."

Dean smiles softly. "Thanks, Bobby. They're in the alley behind the Westminster Memorial Library."

"They?" Bobby asks, somewhat worriedly.

"I had a little complication, Cartwright called a getaway driver, but it's all settled, it's taken care of."

Bobby hesitates before responding, "Dean you know you're only supposed to kill the target, don't mess around with any bodyguards or other fuckers, that's what-"

"That's what gets you in trouble, I know Bobby, you've told me before. He had a gun to my head, I did what had to be done," Dean finishes for him, ending the discussion.

"Just be careful, boy," Bobby nearly pleads. "I'll have the money wired to your account within the next few hours."

"Take your time, just make sure those bodies get cleaned up."

"Will do." And with that, the conversation ends.

~~~~~

Dean arrives at his house, a simple two-story place that's relatively secluded. It's not much, but Dean doesn't need much. He isn't sharing with anyone, he doesn't have pets, and he's hardly ever home, anyways. With the job he has and the money he's saved over the years, he could easily afford a newer, better house, but what's the point of moving? He likes the privacy, and there are only a few houses around, all with quiet neighbors. His own little home.

Dean parks in the garage and crosses the threshold. The smell of lemongrass and coffee grounds wraps him in a blanket and welcomes him back. He smiles softly and treads across the wooden floor, setting his heavy duffel bag, full of weapons, into a chair at the table. He sighs deeply, content with being home. He goes to the coffee maker and brews a fresh pot; he drinks it constantly, day and night. He leans against the countertop, listening to the liquid drizzling half-heartedly into the pot. It lets him think about the day.

He flashes to a swish of gelled black hair; Dean cards a hand through his own.

A small smirk on chiseled pink lips; a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

He finds himself lost in thought, all of them about the one conversation he'd had this morning with a dark-haired, blue-eyed boy.

He pulls a mug from a corner cabinet above a granite countertop, and checks the time displayed on the microwave; 4:46. He's supposed to pick up Cas at seven, and he doesn't even know where he lives yet, let alone where he's planning on taking him.

He pours the finished coffee into his mug and places it on a coaster in the living room. He walks steadily across the room, kicking off his shoes at the front door as he passes. Dean goes into his bedroom and pulls off his jacket, hanging it on a hook by the closet door, then replaces his jeans with sweatpants. He grabs his laptop from the nightstand beside his bed and returns to the living room, plopping down in a comfy chair beside his untouched coffee.

He opens it up, keys in his password, then logs into one of Bobby's target-finding websites. These things are miracle workers when it comes to finding information on people. Naturally, all of the websites they use are highly illegal, but murdering people for money is a risky business; one they can't afford to make mistakes in.

He types 'Castiel' into the search bar and swears under his breath, realizing he never got his last name. Regardless, Castiel isn't a very popular name, so it shouldn't be too much trouble to find his information. He types in some more information about their area; State: Kansas, City: Cottonwood Falls, Zip Code: 66845. When he clicks search, only 4 results pop up.

He notices the piercing blue eyes instantaneously; how can he not? He clicks on the picture, and Castiel's profile buffers and loads.

Castiel Novak.

His eyes whisk over the information presented to him. Everything about Castiel will be on this page, but he doesn't read it. He knows there's something special about him. Of course, he's gone on here and searched up other girls and guys plenty of times just to get a little head start before jumping into anything serious, but Dean knows this time it's different. He'd rather learn everything about Castiel firsthand.

He browses the words quickly, trying not to take in any of it, and finally finds his home address; 7299 Teakwood Drive. After memorizing and plugging it into the Maps app on his phone, Dean signs out of the website and closes the tab. The app says it'll only take him 18 minutes to get there. He pushes the computer aside and checks his watch. 5:32.

Dean rolls his eyes and stands up, groaning at the stiffness of his legs, probably from his sprint after Cartwright this morning. He doesn't typically run unless he has to, and most of the time, his job places him on the roof of a building, or in a window; somewhere hidden, so he never really needs to run.

He saunters over to the sound system he has set up on the kitchen counter, set in the corner, speakers placed around the kitchen and living room. The sound box is a bit large for the little counter space he has, but it's one of the few luxury items Dean owns. He can use the radio, Pandora, or he can plug his phone in as a USB to play music throughout the house. This sound system is his favorite thing that he has; he put the speakers in himself, ran the wires through the walls from the drivers to the sound box.

He flicks on the switches labeled 'kitchen' and 'living room,' then connects his phone to the USB. He goes to his Apple Music app and selects his Classic Rock playlist. AC/DC's Back In Black floods the two rooms; he adjusts the volume and goes back to sipping his coffee on the couch. He stretches his legs out across the cushions, mug in hand, eyes closed, humming along to the rhythm.

He can't help but allow his thoughts to flutter to his upcoming date. He's not nervous, no, Dean Winchester doesn't get nervous. He's simply. . . curious. About Castiel, about how it'll go, about how far he can push him. . . how far he can take him. He smirks at the thought, and his memory of Castiel smirks back at him.

Dean lies on the couch for a while longer, thinking and contemplating and chasing his thoughts in circles like a dog that's got it out for his tail. Eventually, when his coffee mug's been completely drained and a small ring on the nightstand is the only evidence left behind, Dean stands and stretches, blinking away the bleariness from his eyes. He washes his mug in the sink and kills the music, checking the time on his phone when he unplugs it; 6:29. Right on time.

Dean wanders into his room and changes back into the jeans he'd had on earlier. He grabs his keys and jacket from the hook on his way out the door, punching Castiel's address into the app once again.

He steps outside, meeting the chilly air with a shiver. The weather is typically pretty warm year-round in this part of Kansas, but can still dip into the 40's and even 30's at night. Luckily, November isn't terribly cold; Dean guesses it's probably just under 60 degrees at the moment. He sticks his hands in his jacket pockets and strolls over to the Impala. She's looking as wonderful as ever, the metallic shine glinting beautifully in the falling sun's rays.

Dean settles into the seat and turns on the stereo, finally jamming his key into the ignition and backing out of the driveway. He follows the directions to Cas' house, making turns every now and then, taking back streets and winding roads. When his house, or more specifically, apartment, comes into view, Dean can't help but be surprised.

He lives in a beautiful part of town; the people, the nature, the buildings. Everything seemed to have a sort of sparkle, like a gleaming sheet of Saran wrap coated the town.

He hadn't even thought that Cas might live in an apartment when he searched for his address. Presents a bit of a problem.

Dean parks outside, and saunters up the paved walkway towards the apartment complex, taking in the surrounding autumn backdrop. The building was obviously constructed plenty of years ago, but appeared to be in great condition; it's a Georgian style complex, with a large lawn and lots of tall trees. He's only several paces from the building when Castiel emerges from the inside. They lock eyes, and Cas flashes Dean a dazzling smile.

Dean grins back at him, taking in his appearance when he looks away. Cas is sporting form-fitting black jeans splendidly, and a grey cardigan sweater with a white collared shirt underneath. He wears a heavy black jumper as an outermost layer, and a pair of dark combat boots completes the look.

"I'm surprised you showed," Cas admits sheepishly when they're side by side.

Dean feigns a hurt expression, going as far as to press his palm to his chest, over his heart. "Wow, that hurts. It really does, I- I'm-" he shakes his head, "that stings."

He rolls his eyes, "don't be so dramatic, you know what I meant." Cas looks sideways at him, up and down. "How'd you even get my address?" he asks suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

"I have my sources," Dean replies quietly, a cryptic smirk plastered to his face.

"That's incredibly discomforting," Cas states. Dean keeps silent at his reply, a smirk still on his lips. It'd probably be much more discomforting if he told Cas that he used a super secret website on the dark web, and he could have seen everything about him from his family history to his criminal record -- though he doubts someone like Castiel would have a criminal record.

They stroll up to Dean's car, Cas looking around the interior conspicuously.

Dean looks across at him, laughing at the curious look on his face, "are you scared or something?"

Cas continues to peek around the car. He nods his head back and forth in a 'more-or-less' motion, turning his palms upward. "I wasn't really sure what to expect," he meets Dean's eyes, "I guess I'm just surprised."

Dean furrows his eyebrows, his turn to be taken aback. "Surprised? By what?"

Cas simpers, looking at him knowingly, "by you."

The confused look on Dean's face intensifies, so Cas continues, "you show up in a lovely clean car, looking all radiant with your leather jacket and-" Cas gestures to Dean's face,"-cheekbones," Dean looks away, chuckling, "and seemingly by magic, you knew where I live, and the most amazing thing about it all," he pauses to take a breath, gathering the right words, "you actually showed up."

Dean's mouth hung open, showing his surprise for the smallest second, before he regains his composure and replies, "I take the opportunities presented to me," he glances over Cas' whole figure, "and believe me," Dean licks his lips and leans closer to him, lowering his voice, "this was not an opportunity I wanted to miss."

Cas swallowed a knot in his throat, making Dean smile wolfishly, then wink and lean away. They climb into the car simultaneously, Cas glimpsing around the interior. He starts the engine and swings out of the parking space abruptly.

Cas clicks his seatbelt into place and clears his throat, "so um- where exactly are we going?"

"Back to my place," Dean throws out without hesitating.

"Excuse me?" Cas asks incredulously.

Dean laughs lightly. "Relax, I'm just kidding."

Although he doesn't see it, Dean assumes Cas rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest as he responds, seemingly irritated, "do you ever take anything seriously?"

"I try my best not to," Dean responds definitively, still wearing a cocky smirk.

He takes a glance at Cas, who's shaking his head slightly, a disappointed look etched on his face. It's Dean's turn to roll his eyes and sigh exasperatedly, "there's this diner across town, closer to where I live. It's got great food and I know the owners."

Cas approves of Dean's answer and nods his head, seeming to loosen up.

"What do you listen to?" Dean asks him to break the silence, reaching for the radio.

"I. . . um-" he coughs a laugh and looks to the floorboard.

"Come on, I don't bite," Dean responds to Cas' hesitation as he turns to a classic rock station.

"I don't believe that," Cas says, unconvinced.

Dean grins and murmurs suggestively, "I mean," he pauses and shrugs his shoulders, "I will if you ask me to."

Cas can't help but laugh, even though he tries not to. It's so easy to laugh with him, to be sitting with a pretty boy in his pretty car in this pretty town.

"I guess. . ." he pauses, choosing his words, "you could say I listen to slow songs, like ones you'd hear at a wedding."

Dean squints his eyes, thinking carefully. Had he ever even listened to a slow song? Probably never willingly. But then, just like that, he started to wonder why he never had. In that moment, Dean realized that this one is going to be different. He knew Castiel was different; from anyone he'd ever gone out with.

He realized Cas could have said he listened to Mexican pop music and it would've been a perfect answer.

He smiles warmly, gripping the steering wheel loosely. "I'll have to give it a try sometime."

"You should."

Dean looks across at him, "I will." Cas turns his head and for a second they lock eyes. Cas doesn't look uncomfortable anymore, or disappointed, or even confused. For the first time since they've met, he looks content.

Which means he must be doing something right.

After a few more minutes of driving, Dean humming along to the music while Cas simply nods his head to the rhythm, they pull up outside a rundown-looking diner, one Cas has never seen in the few years he'd lived in this area.

Dean parks and leads Cas to the entrance. The inside of the restaurant reminds Cas of a bar more than a diner, but he doesn't complain. Dean doesn't wait to be seated, as the sign at the door requests; instead, he walks straight to a booth in the back corner. There are only a few other people peppered around the place. Cas expects it doesn't get busy until after dark, when all the alcoholics and pool-swindlers come lolling in.

They'd only been sat a few seconds when a lady with dirty blonde hair and a friendly smile strolls over to their table with waters and menus.

"Dean, wonderful to see you again." Dean laughs and agrees it's been too long, before her attention turns to Cas, "hey, I'm Ellen. Good to meet you, hon." She extends a hand forward and Cas takes it, returning the handshake.

"Castiel, you can call me Cas."

She nods her head approvingly, then puts up her hand to hide her mouth from Dean's view. She lowers her voice as if to prevent Dean from hearing what she says to Cas, "so is this his idea of a date? A rundown old diner?"

"Alright, alright, that's enough," Dean laughs and waves his hands in the air as if to shoo her away. He smiles up at her, and she returns the gesture; Dean clearly idolizes her, and she obviously adores him.

"Well, for what it's worth, I think this is a lovely dining establishment," Cas compliments, and she beams at him.

She then leans over and half-whispers to Dean, "you better keep this one, I like him." She winks at Cas and Dean replies quietly, just loud enough for Cas to hear, "I'm working on it."

Ellen laughs happily, pleased with their light banter, and then asks for their order.

Dean replies instantly, his order commended to memory, "I'll have a bacon burger, fries on the side."

Ellen scribbles on her scratch pad. "For you, hon?"

"I think I'll take a cheeseburger, fries as well."

She smiles and informs them that their food will be out in a minute before scurrying off. Dean takes the moment of silence to lay his forearms on the table and lean into them, inching closer to Cas.

"So," Dean lifts one corner of his mouth, "you come here often?"

Cas chuckles and looks to his hands folded in his lap. "Unfortunately not. The service is outstanding."

"I have to agree. I've known Ellen for a long time, she's like a mother to me."

"Where are your parents now?"

Dean freezes up, blinks a few times. He licks his lips and responds plainly, "not around."

He leaves Cas to interpret what that means. Around, like, not in the area? Or around, as in, not alive? He doesn't want to ask, so instead, he responds with a simple, "mine aren't either."

Dean doesn't reply, so Cas breaks the silence, "what about siblings?"

At this, Dean's demeanor completely changes. His shoulders relax, and his mouth perks up from a straight line to a smile. His eyes beam at Cas when he starts, "I have a younger brother, Sam, he means the world to me," he pauses for a second before continuing, "he lives around here, not too far from my place. I see him all the time." He doesn't add that they're partners in assassinating rich entrepreneurs so he gets to see him practically every day. Might send the wrong message.

"Hm," Cas hums in response. "It sounds like you two are close."

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," Dean chuckles and leans back in the booth, crossing his arms over his chest. "What about you, you got siblings?"

"I do, I have four older brothers."

Dean's mouth falls open. "Jesus Christ, four?" he asks in disbelief.

Cas snickers, "yes, four," he takes a breath before continuing, "but we don't really get along, and they don't live nearby."

"I can't imagine having four brothers to take care of," Dean muses with a faraway look in his eyes.

"Well, it was more like they took care of me; I WAS the youngest," Cas pauses and focuses on a little dark speck on the tabletop. "They beat up on me more than anything," he finishes and shrugs.

Dean shakes his head, trailing off, "I can't imagine."

Cas shrugs again and changes the subject, "so um-" he clears his throat, "what do you do? Where do you work?"

Dean had prepared himself for that question a long time ago, and has been answering it in the same way ever since, "I work for a company that eliminates potential threats to businesses, or individual people, really just anyone or anything that needs protection."

Cas furrows his eyebrows, a confused look making it's way onto his face, "so. . . what are you, like a spy, or something? Like James Bond?"

Dean chuckles lightly and avoids his eyes, "yeah, something like that. It's a lot of government intervention, things I can't talk about." He tries to play it off like it's not a big deal, nothing crazy, but he can tell that Cas isn't gonna let it go.

"You know, you really aren't convincing me that you AREN'T a mass-murdering psycho," Cas replies; half joking, half serious.

Dean hesitates, wondering if he should tell him about what he does, what he actually does. Get down to the specifics, just throw out there that his job is to murder people. He'd have to find out sooner or later, and he seems like a relatively understanding and accepting guy.

Then again, his job IS to murder people. Most people don't come on too strongly to something like that.

Instead he chuckles, "what more do you want from me?"

"I want a straight answer!" Cas is laughing, and they're both smiling lightly, the atmosphere warm and simple. It felt like coming to this rundown old diner was a common occurence, something they'd done a hundred times over.

Dean silently hoped that that might come true.

Dean shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head lightly, "I can't say more, I'm sorry. Confidential information."

Cas pouts and leans back in his seat, defeated. Dean adds on as an afterthought, "it's also too dangerous for you to know because then you'd become a target and the government would come after you for knowing too much. But if you REALLY want to know and think the risk of putting your life in danger is worth it, by all means, I'll tell you everything."

Cas thinks he's joking. Dean wishes he was.

He plays it off as if he's really joking, but decides at the moment, awaiting Cas' response, that he would do one of two things depending on how Cas responds. If Cas decides to press him, if he really pushes, then Dean will let it out, just get it out of the way early. Besides, Cas hardly knows anything about him yet. And he seems like a skittish guy, it's doubtful he'd do anything about it. AND Cas seems trustworthy.

At this point, Dean's just talking himself into telling Cas.

Cas leans back into the table and lowers his voice, and replies, obviously non-serious, "I like dangerous."

Cas is expecting Dean to tell him he works for the government as a construction worker or something, and that Dean was just embarassed to tell him what he really does.

But Dean is anything but embarrased about his occupation. He isn't embarrassed, he isn't proud, he's just. . . careful. He likes to pick and choose very carefully who knows about his secret life. And he's about to let a complete stranger know his biggest secret.

_He knows you like men, too, that's a big one._

Dean sighs, putting the words together in his head. He glances up at Cas' expectant, almost smug face.

"Let's hear it." Cas cocks his head to the side, patiently awaiting Dean's response.

"When I say I deal with threats, I don't mean I sit them down in my office and we have a nice long chat about their decisions." He inspects Cas' face, looking for any sign of. . . pretty much anything. But he's unreadable.

_Bastard._

"Well, what do you do with them?"

"I. . ." Dean trails off. Cas narrows his eyes, seeming to notice Dean's negative hesitation. "I get rid of them."

Cas keeps silent.

"I take them out."

Cas blinks, and his eyes are clear. Not a trace of emotion. He's frozen up, and Dean starts to panic.

_Does he not understand? Oh god, what if he asks me to elaborate?_

Just as Dean opens his mouth to cut through the uncomfortable silence, Cas' voice appears in a whisper, "my brother used to do that."

Cas' arms are folded on top of each other on the table, his shoulders hunched and stiff. His eyes are unblinking and hazy, as if recalling an old memory. As if a video hidden in the back of his mind had floated up to the surface, right behind his eyes, and he's now being forced to re-watch what he's seen a thousand times.

"You- your brother used to-"

"Used to kill people," Cas finishes for him.

It's Dean's turn to be completely taken aback. He has no idea what to say to that. Cas is looking forward, his eyes focused on something far away but appearing numb.

"Cas-"

"No," Cas cuts him off weakly. "Don't pull that shit with me." His gaze has turned to stone, and despite being a murdering lunatic, Dean feels a sense of fear when he meets Cas' eyes. "Don't try to justify that to me."

"I wasn't-" Dean starts again, only to be cut off once more. "Just stop. Just-" Cas shakes his head and balls his hands in fists. He seems almost. . . disappointed? Not at all what Dean was expecting. He was expecting fear, confusion, anger. . . but not disappointment. It was almost worse; it makes him feel guilty for causing him such distress.

"I'm sorry," Cas apologizes, his voice breaking in the middle. "I'm sorry," he repeats more forcefully. "I just, um-" he clears his throat, obviously troubled. "I just thought I finally escaped that life." He nods his head, up and down, like he's approving his own answer.

"What do you mean?" Dean asks, bewildered.

"I mean," Cas lifts his eyes, looking into Dean's emeralds, "I thought that I would never have to be a part of that world again, that life again. I hated seeing him come home, broken and bloody. And I would have to pretend that everything was fine, that I was okay with my brother going out and living with the fear that he might not come back. It's different from someone you love being a cop, or- or a firefighter. . . they're on the 'good' side of the fight, the side that everyone's rooting for. Nobody roots for the murderer, whether they're killing someone who deserves it or not. It makes him alone out there; nobody will give a damn if something happens to him. But I do. I did. I always cared."

Dean is astonished by Cas' words. He's clearly not who Dean thought he was.

"And now- I'm gonna have to deal with that again. I'm gonna have to deal with the fear and the blood and-" he stops himself mid-sentence to bite his lip.

"Cas. . ." Dean starts. He doesn't even know where to begin. "Cas, we don't-" he searches for the right words, leaning into the tabletop, "we don't have to do this. I just met you, I understand if you don't want to see me because it'll bring up bad memories or whatever-"

Cas cuts him off, raising his voice, "no!" He regains his composure before explaining, "no. I know it sounds crazy. . . but, I feel something here. I feel something with you. Despite what you do, I think. . . I think I want to be with you."

Dean blinks. Blinks again. His blood is running cold, and then hot, and his whole body is steaming and the room is on fire. He swallows hard, trying to digest the butterflies eating the lining of his stomach for the second time today. He's just opening his mouth when Ellen bursts out of nowhere, enthusiasm and all, "food's ready, boys!"

Both Cas and Dean exhale heavily and return to reality as Ellen reaches their table and slaps down the plates in front of them.

"How's it going over here?" she asks warmly, putting her hands on her hips.

Dean raises his eyebrows, tripping over the different responses forming in his throat, while Cas looks down at his cheeseburger with a little smile on his face.

"It's uh- it's going well," Dean responds sheepishly. He glances at Cas, who just happens to look up at the same moment. They forget their onlooker for a short second and feel the sparks. It's amazing how a simple look can take you some place else. And it's amazing how many times that same day they'd ventured into another reality together. Dean can only hope they can eventually stay there permanently.

Ellen clears her throat and they're both simultaneously reminded of the third party.

"Well, it looks like you boys are having a lovely time without my presence, so I'll be off." She throws an upraised eyebrow and suggestive wink at Dean as she turns on her heel.

Dean expresses his embarrassment with scarlet cheeks and wandering eyes, and Cas is amazed he didn't see it right from the start. Dean isn't some badass, if-looks-could-kill type of guy. He has the outward appearance of a lion and the inward demeanor of a kitten.

"I like you," Dean declares simply.

Cas smiles, a genuine smile. "I like you, as well."

They pick up their burgers simultaneously, wondering what the future has in store for them.


	2. The Beginning: Part Two

_Forgive me_

_if I stumble and fall_

_for I know not how_

_to love too well_

_I am clumsy_

_and my words_

_do not form as I wish_

_so let me kiss you instead_

_and let my lips_

_paint it for you_

_all the pictures_

_that my clumsy heart_

_cannot._

\- Atticus

_**September 2007** _

"C'mon, Cas, just come over," Dean breathes into the phone. He's lying on the couch in his boxers, bored out of his mind. No assignments today, which means no plans. He's been begging Cas to come over for a good 15 minutes, with no luck. He wasn't budging; something about a paper to write for evolutionary biology, something or other. 

"Dean," is Cas' simple reply, short and stern. 

"Babe." Dean replies, mimicking the same voice Cas used with him. He pauses, waiting to see if Cas tries to stop him from beginning another very valid argument. He finds his answer in the silence. "When is that paper due, a week from now? Bring your laptop over here, we can get it on, and then you can get back to writing it." 

"That's what you said last time," Cas argues back. Dean can picture Cas crossing his arms, rolling his eyes at Dean's persistence. 

"I mean it this time. Please? I want to see you." 

Cas keeps silent. 

Dean throws out the three little words that work their magic every single time, "I miss you." 

Cas sighs into the receiver and Dean grins triumphantly. "You are completely hopeless, Dean Winchester." 

"I'll see you in a bit," Dean replies, ending the conversation and the call. He stands, a shit-eating grin still on his face. It's amazing how often he finds himself smiling now that he sees Cas every day; now that they've been dating for nearly ten months. Cas knew Dean was the one within a week of their first date; Dean knew as he was driving home the same night as their date. And things have been running smoothly ever since. When Cas wasn't studying or in class he was with Dean. The summer was a real treat for the both of them; Cas without classes, Dean with a few assignments peppered into the weeks, and all the time in between spent together. Cas would show up at Dean's door randomly. Dean asked him why he hung out at his place more than his own apartment. Cas' only reply was that Dean's house is nicer. It may be true, but that definitely wasn't the only reason. Cas loved seeing Dean as much as he could, and Dean loved being with Cas. 

Sometimes he would be there when Dean finished a job, and he'd come home to a wonderful surprise. It became a habit of his to hope that Cas would be at his place after a job, considering how beat up he'd sometimes come home. Cas decided only a month after they met to take a few first aid classes. He had a basic understanding of first aid from back when his brother used to come home in similar conditions, but he felt it necessary to brush up on his knowledge. Dean finished a messy job with a split eyebrow and a lip so swollen Cas gasped when he saw him. Dean could've sworn he was about to cry. Most of the time, he gets home in one piece. A bruised cheek, a headache, nothing he can't take care of with some alcohol and Advil. 

But then there were other times that Sam would have to carry him inside. Once he had to wear a shoulder cast for a few weeks, which Dean insisted didn't actually help his arm heal. Another time he came back spitting up bloody wads of saliva; some guy had hit him squarely in the cheek, to where he bit off a chunk of skin on the inside of his mouth. A few times he'd come home with sure concussions, migraines, bruises of all different colors that bloomed in any and every space imaginable. There were times when he'd come back from a particularly brutal fight, and he'd flinch if Cas moved too quickly near him. Cas loved seeing Dean, but he hated watching him come home bloody. He never complained, always just cleaned him up the best he could and gave him plenty of medicine and booze. 

Despite Cas hating what Dean does, he couldn't argue that Dean made great money doing it. Cas was broke as all hell, what with having to focus on college and having no time for a job. It was actually a lovely arrangement. Dean was always trying to pass Cas money to help him buy groceries and pay his rent; he'd even offered to pay for Cas' tuition a few times. He always refused, of course. They hadn't even been together a full year, it was ridiculous to think that Dean might pay for something so expensive, just for him. Cas had to admit, though; he couldn't remember a time when Dean wasn't a part of his life.

Dean brews a fresh pot of coffee, adding fewer grounds than he would if he were making it solely for himself. He'd learned that Cas prefers his coffee light, whereas Dean likes his dark. Cas even adds creamer to his.

_"This tastes like marshmallows," Dean had said to Cas, twisting his face in disgust after taking a sip of his coffee._

_"I usually add more creamer than that," Cas replied, stealing the mug back from Dean's hands._

Dean was feeling jittery today. Perhaps it was because he'd slept until noon, or maybe because he hadn't done anything active since, and now he's working on his third cup of coffee. Sounds about right. 

The doorbell chimes and the smile returns to Dean's face, his heart leaping into his throat. He hurries to the door and swings it open to Cas' radiance. Boy, was he a sight to see. A navy blue shirt complimenting his eyes, hanging loosely on his frame and dark, ripped jeans that made him look irresistible. Accompanied by messy black hair and square-shaped glasses was a wide smile that perfectly mirrored Dean's and a single backpack strap visibly slung across his shoulder.

Dean could hardly contain himself. He looked Cas up and down, and it took every ounce of strength not to jump on him right there on his doorstep. 

"God damn, Cas." 

He puts on a confused face, looks down at his appearance questioningly, "what?"

"You gotta warn me before you show up at my door looking like that." 

"I threw on whatever I could find. . ." he pauses, still wondering what the hell Dean is talking about, "I look the same every day." 

Dean licks his lips. "That's the problem."

He grabs Cas' waist and pulls him inside, then shuts the door behind him. He grabs the backpack off his back and pushes him against the door, not hesitating to connect their mouths. Dean kissed him like he hadn't seen him in years, like Cas had been at war and finally came home. It felt just like that every time he wasn't with him. 

"What's gotten into you?" Cas chuckles against Dean's mouth, lightly pushing him away to get some space.

"I guess I just really missed you today," Dean answers happily. With his hands on Cas' waist, Dean kisses him again, a hard, passionate kiss that expresses just how much he missed him. Cas wraps his arms around Dean's neck, leaning into him, wanting more. Dean obliges by pushing Cas back against the door, more forcefully, rolling his hips in to meet Cas'. Dean's hands wrap behind Cas' waist to lift him off the ground, and Cas doesn't hesitate to wrap his legs around Dean's waist for support. He squeezes Dean's shoulders as he carries the both of them into the bedroom and throws Cas down on the mattress. 

"How do you do this to me?" Dean purrs as he crawls over Cas, wishing for nothing more than his clothes to evaporate, for their skin to be flush. Cas is calm and collected, going so far as to have his hands behind his head looking up at Dean innocently, as if he has no idea what Dean's asking. 

"Do what?" Cas asks. As if he doesn't know. 

Dean is running his hands over Cas' covered abdomen, then pushes under his faded blue t-shirt to feel his sides and stomach. The touch makes Cas close his eyes and elicits a sharp inhale, a sound Dean has grown accustomed to. Dean leans down to lay a kiss on Cas' stomach, just above his belt, then continuing up his abdomen towards his chest, hauling Cas' shirt up as he goes. When he grabs the hem, Cas sits up just enough to allow Dean to take his shirt over his head and throw it to the floor. Dean presses his lips together, mouth watering at Cas' bare chest. His hands still crossed behind his head, Dean takes it as a personal challenge to make him move, to make him feel incapable of remaining so relaxed with Dean worshipping him like this. 

He straddles Cas' waist, then leans over him, one arm beside his head to hold him up, the other on his hip. Cas wears the most innocent of expressions, and it drives him mad. How can he look so goddamn innocent with Dean doing this to him, touching him, prodding and sliding and kissing him? 

"If you touch me, you lose," Dean gravels at him, and Cas just smiles back. 

"Good luck." 

Dean smirks and kneels between Cas' legs. He goes back to planting kisses on his stomach, slow and open-mouthed and wet. He glances up at Cas, who's eyes are shut tight, as if he looks at Dean, then he'll break. He moves down to Cas' still covered legs, thanking the heavens that he wore ripped jeans. He drags his hands up and down the denim, sticking his fingers into the biggest holes to grab his legs and run his hands over his skin. Cas still isn't budging, so Dean decides its time to step it up. 

He unclasps the buckle on Cas' belt and pulls the zipper down, but doesn't discard his pants yet. He needs to tease him first, to get him wondering when it's going to end. Dean runs his hands over Cas' sides, pressing his thumbs into the V leading down to where Cas wants Dean's hands to actually be. He pushes on Cas' protruding hip bones, leans over and licks a line from his belly button to chest, his hands following suit up his sides. He moves up to favor Cas' neck, licking and biting and sucking to mark what's his. 

Cas' hands are gripping his hair, trying anything to ignore Dean's weight above him. Dean's hands on his sides. Dean's tongue on his neck. Dean asking him what he wants in his husky, lust-filled voice that gives him chills when they're NOT in bed together. He didn't realize it'd be this hard not to card his hand through Dean's hair, or to grab his neck or his shoulders or his waist or- 

His thoughts go fuzzy when Dean drops his hips into Cas'. His head is swimming with pleasure, and then he does it again and Cas thinks he's either gonna faint or rip his hair out. Dean is looking at him smugly, positive that he'll break at any second. He rolls his hips into Cas' again, and again, then goes back to his neck to work on the hickey he started, and Cas finally gives in. He growls a "fuck it" under his breath and pulls Dean's face towards him to press their lips together. 

"You lose," Dean hums into Cas' ear. 

"I don't give a shit," he hisses at him, hands fumbling with the clasp on Dean's belt. 

"Woah, easy there, tiger," Dean snickers at him, but by this point, Cas' dick is swelling and getting ready to burst out of his pants. Dean helps him pull off his own, and then yanks his off, Cas grabbing for any part of Dean to touch, to feel while his weight isn't over him. He descends on him again, Cas' hands smoothing over Dean's shoulders, his biceps, the arch in his back. Meanwhile, Dean is rocking his hips in to meet Cas' in short, rhythmic thrusts, making Cas writhe beneath him. 

"Dean-" he stammers, trying to catch his breath, "Dean, just-" 

"What do you want?" Dean murmurs into Cas' ear, his hips no longer rolling into Cas'. 

"I want you- I want you to fuck me, please-" Cas' head is swimming, his body feels sticky and blisteringly hot, and he wants nothing more than for Dean to rock his hips into him. 

Dean's excited smile shows in his voice, "just remember you asked for it." 

He stands and rummages through his nightstand for the lube. He flops back down on the bed, knees bouncing on the mattress. He looks down at Cas' face, wanting to meet his sapphire-blue eyes, upset to see that he has them covered by his eyelids. Dean trails his hands up and down Cas' hips, running over the waistband of his boxers, making Cas shiver and ball his hands in his hair. 

"Dean," Cas whines. Dean pulls his boxers down his legs and throws them to the floor.

"Say it again," Dean commands, unscrewing the lube container, dipping his fingers into the gel. 

"Dean," Cas hisses through gritted teeth. Dean pushes a finger into Cas without any warning. Cas' breath hitches, a low moan forming in his throat, heart pounding in his chest. Dean rubs at the inside walls of Cas' ass.

"Again," Dean requests, pushing a second finger into him, scissoring and spreading and eliciting moans from Cas. He works his fingers, in and out, rubbing at a spot that always makes him writhe and unravel beneath him. 

"Dean!" Cas cries. He pushes a third finger in. Cas' back arches off the mattress, his shoulders pressing down, hands nearly ripping out short strands of hair. Dean uses his weight to prevent Cas from bucking up again. His thighs naturally spread as he relaxes, reveling in the fullness he feels with Dean rubbing at his prostate. 

Just when Cas starts getting comfortable, bearing down on Dean's fingers pumping into him, Dean slips his hand out, leaving Cas aching and breathing hard. He removes his own boxers and adds them to the pile of clothes on the ground. He takes another swipe of lube and greases his throbbing cock. He loves teasing Cas, loves taking his time and making him wait. He knows Cas can't stand it, which makes it even better. 

"You gonna take me like a man?" Dean hums to the air, seemingly thicker and heavier than normal. Cas is breathing raggedly, short bursts of air heaving through his lungs, as if he's about to combust right there on Dean's bed. You could say he _is_ about to combust. 

"C'mon Cas, you know I don't like the silent treatment in the bedroom," Dean leans over to tease the head of his cock at Cas' rim. Cas whines, feeling overwhelmed and flustered with the loss of Dean inside him. He can barely form thoughts through the hazy film coating his mind, his only focus point being the swelling pressure in his dick. After a few more heavy breaths, he puts two and two together, finally understanding that Dean can help with that, so long as he gives in to anything he commands. "Dean. . ." it comes out as a pinched whine, "please I need it- I need you-" Dean cuts him off by pushing his hips into Cas, breaching his rim, with a sharp inhale. Cas winces and grits his teeth at the bluntness of Dean's dick, but otherwise, doesn't make a sound. He can take it; he has before. Plenty of times. 

"I knew you could take it, could take me like a good boy," Dean continues to push in, and Cas feels every movement he makes, every breath, every fidget. If he moves a millimeter, Cas can feel it. The dull ache caused by Dean's shallow movements loosens and melts as Cas relaxes and Dean falls into a rhythm. It takes Dean several thrusts to find Cas' prostate, changing angles and positions until one of his thrusts makes Cas dig his nails into Dean's back, mouth falling open to release warm, panting moans. He grinds into Cas melodically, his breath coming faster with the effort of keeping his hips in line to hit _that spot_ with each thrust. 

When Cas' face is twisted beyond recognition, and Dean doesn't think either of them will last much longer, he reaches down to grab Cas' dick in his palm. He starts to jack them both earnestly, working through pre-cum, matching his strokes with his thrusts until Cas releases a strangled moan. Dean helps Cas through his orgasm, then takes two- three- more thrusts into him to enjoy his own. 

Dean collapses on top of Cas, sweat and cum pooling between them. They're both taking deep gulps of air, chests swelling and compressing discordantly. Once he's mostly caught his breath, Dean rolls off of Cas to lay beside him. He chuckles to himself, making Cas laugh blissfully as well, until both of them are giggling like schoolkids. 

"That was. . ." Dean's voice is unwavering, yet he has trouble finding a suitable word.

"Euphoric?" 

"I was gonna say something along the lines of _fan-fucking-tastic_ but please, continue rubbing your fancy book learning in my face." 

Cas rolls his eyes at him and his body follows suit, propelling him off the bed and onto his wobbly legs. 

Dean lifts his head from the mattress, "where are you going?" 

Preoccupied with pulling on his boxers and jeans, Cas replies, "I was serious about this biology paper, I really need to get some work done." He buttons his jeans and crosses the bedroom into the bathroom, leaving Dean alone on his bed, covered in sweat and cum, fully exposed, and confused. 

Cas turns on the sink and runs a washcloth under the cool stream. He presses his palms into the edge of the countertop and takes a moment to look at himself in the mirror. Every time he's amazed by his appearance after they'd had sex. Before Dean, he didn't believe in the "sex afterglow" theory. But now, looking himself over, how could he not? Some sort of radiance seemed to emanate from his skin. His face flushed a light ruby red, complimenting his sapphire blue eyes. Despite the cum cooling on his stomach and sweat beading on his face, he couldn't deny that he was glowing. 

Or maybe Dean just did that to him. Maybe they didn't even need to fuck their brains out for him to adopt this glorious appearance. 

Cas decides to leave the philosophy questions for another time and grabs the washcloth from the sink. He rings out the cold water, then wipes away the cum from his stomach. Another rinse, and he starts dabbing at the sweat on his forehead and in his hair. As he's running the cloth around his neck and over his shoulders, Cas catches Dean's reflection in the mirror, just his head peeking through the bathroom door, a shit-eating grin spread over his face. 

He takes Cas' silence as an invitation to join him. He saunters up behind Cas and wraps his arms around his waist, resting his cheek on his shoulder. 

"You are aware that you just got cum all over my back," he says, as a statement rather than a question. 

"Yes, but I just missed you so much, I didn't think you were _ever_ coming back." 

Cas wriggles out of Dean's grasp and turns around to face him. He takes the washcloth and cleans up Dean's stomach before grudgingly cleaning off his own back where Dean had just molded them together in a hug. Dean's pouty lips have made an appearance, but Cas knows by now to not let them influence him. He kisses Dean's frowny face, pulling back with a smug little smirk, further encouraging Dean's pout. 

"You know that doesn't work on me." 

Immediately the pout is wiped from Dean's face, replaced with casual awe, "always worth a try." 

Cas looks him up and down, meeting Dean's eyes after he's finished checking him out, who smirks and waggles an eyebrow at him. 

Cas says simply, "at least you had the courtesy to put on some pants," then turns on his heel, hearing Dean scoff behind him. Dean's on him in a second, grabbing his wrist and spinning him around without wasting a second to pull their hips flush and press their mouths together. Cas reacts instantly, smiling through the kiss, weaving his hands into Dean's hair and behind his neck. 

"You just can't get enough of me, can you?" Cas whispers breathlessly. 

"I could never." Dean pushes Cas back until he's stopped by the wall of his bedroom. They do the tongue tango until they're completely out of breath and couldn't possibly find any more parts of each other's bodies to explore.

"Dean. . ." Cas trails off, with Dean trailing kisses along his jaw and neck. He tries to muster up the right words to make Dean take him seriously. 

"Dean, I'm serious." 

Dean releases an agonized, overly dramatized groan, before allowing Cas to escape from his grasp against the wall. "I hate that you're so fucking smart," Dean grumbles. "Feel like I'm being cheated out of time with you." 

Cas digs through Dean's dresser drawers for a different shirt, deciding on a dark green, crew neck sweater. He returns to Dean and places a quick kiss on his lips, pulling away to smile halfheartedly. "I'm sorry, I wish I could spend all my time doing nothing with you." Dean's pout turns into a mimic of Cas' smile. "But unfortunately, I've got work to do." This still doesn't seem to satisfy Dean, so Cas groans and tries again. "How about this? The sooner I finish my paper, the sooner you'll have my full, undivided attention." This proposal seems to pacify Dean, and finally, his full, toothy smile comes out to play, and he wags his head up and down approvingly. 

Dean leans in towards Cas as if to press another kiss to his lips, but just as their mouths are about to meet, he sighs, "I love you." 

Cas' eyes flutter closed as he closes the last inch between them, and breathes his reply, "I love you, as well." 

~~~~~

Later, the two lay oppositely on the couch, feet tangling together in the middle. Cas' laptop rests on his thighs, brows creased in frustration, trying to string words together to create a coherent conclusion to his paper. Dean has his hands draped across his abdomen, head slumped against the couch, snoring lightly.

Cas types up the last sentence of his paper and has to resist the urge to slam the top shut and exclaim "I'm done! I'm finally finished!" to the empty room. Instead, he untangles his legs from Dean's as quietly as he can, trying not to disrupt his peaceful slumber. Cas makes his way into the kitchen and goes through the process of brewing a pot of coffee. He knows damn well that Dean will request one the second he wakes. Cas takes up a spot in the corner of the counter while he waits for the coffee to brew. It gives him the perfect view of Dean's sleeping face, as well as the sun just beginning to tease the horizon line. It paints the sky a lovely shade of blood-orange, fading into a lavender blue. Cas loves watching the sun rise and fall; he's practically infatuated with its motions. Dean knows all-too-well how much he adores the colors the sun adds to the sky: Cas had an annoying habit of waking up at six a.m to watch it rise every morning. He didn't choose to wake up so early every day, his body had simply acclimated to waking up early for school over the years. It didn't bother Cas, but Dean, on the other hand, loves his sleep.

The silence brought on by the coffee maker coming to a halt drags Cas out of his thoughts. He pulls two mugs down from the cabinet and pours them both a full cup, leaving a healthy amount of room in Cas' for creamer. Cas hates black coffee; Dean only drinks it black. They discovered this little predicament the first time Dean had had Cas over.

__

_Dean handed Cas a dark crimson mug, filled to the brim. Cas looked up at Dean from his spot at the island sheepishly, Dean sipping at his own cup unknowingly._

__

__

__

_"Do you have creamer?"_

____

__

____

_Dean's eyes go wide for a second, then his brows furrow, as if he couldn't believe Cas would ask such a ridiculous question._

_____ _

__

_____ _

_"You take creamer in your coffee?" he asks incredulously. He interprets Cas' silence to mean he does, and continues, "shit, I didn't even think about that."_

______ _ _

__

______ _ _

_"You _don't_ take creamer in your coffee?" _

_______ _ _ _

__

_______ _ _ _

_Dean had his back turned, face in the fridge, looking to see if he had any sort of creamer hiding behind a million sauce containers. "No, of course not! I take my coffee like a man."_

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_Cas stands from his seated position, mug in hand, and leans casually against the island counter. He mumbles to himself, almost inaudibly, "I bet that's not the only thing you take like a man."_

_________ _ _ _ _ _

__

_________ _ _ _ _ _

_Dean whips around to face Cas, startling him and the mug from his grasp. It crashes to the floor, exploding into a cacophony of red pieces and black puddles._

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

_"Shit, I-" Cas starts, bending to his knees to collect the pieces, "I'm sorry, I'm so clumsy." Dean just laughs and grabs a dish towel from beneath the sink. "It's okay, I have about a hundred more."_

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_They mop up the puddle and throw away the shards of ceramic. As they finish, Dean clears his throat. "So um, what was that about taking things like a man?"_

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Cas digs around in the fridge for creamer, which Dean now always buys just for him, and adds to his mug until the black coffee more closely resembles a light brown tea. 

He carries the two mugs back into the living room, careful not to spill, and places them on the side table. He then takes a seat on the ottoman beside Dean. He sits for a second, simply admiring how peaceful he looks, with his eyes shut tight and pink lips parted slightly. Cas leans over and just barely brushes his lips against Dean's. He doesn't react, of course, being such a heavy sleeper. Cas runs a hand through Dean's hair and whispers his name. At his voice, Dean's green eyes appear from behind his eyelids, and he looks confused for a split second before breaking into a full-blown smile. 

"Did you finish your paper?" he yawns and stretches. 

"Yeah, finally." Cas grabs their mugs from the side table and offers one to Dean. He smiles again and sits up with a groan, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch and accepting the mug. 

"You spoil me." He winks at Cas and takes a sip. 

Cas shrugs and takes a sip from his own mug. "I know." Dean takes a long drink from his mug, then sets it down on the side table. 

"So um, Cas. . . I've been thinking." He puts his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands together, not meeting Cas' eyes, as if he's nervous to continue. 

"That's never a good thing." Cas sets his mug down beside Dean's. He laughs and shakes his head. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." Dean clears his throat and breathes in sharply. "I want you to move in with me." 

Cas raises his eyebrows. That was definitely not what he was expecting. Dean starts again, rushing his words, "it's okay if you don't want to! I was just- I just thought it would be a good idea since you're here all the time anyways. And like, I- I don't know, I come home every day hoping you're here waiting for me." He takes a breath and hopes Cas will start talking in the pause. He glances at him, but Cas' face is unreadable; he's staring at him intently, waiting for him to continue. "I miss you when you aren't here. And- Jesus Christ I sound like I'm on a soap opera- and sometimes I miss you when you _are_ here. I've never had that before, with anyone." Dean finishes with another breath, bouncing his leg up and down. "Fuck, Cas, would you say something?" 

Cas responds by leaning in and pressing their lips together. Finally, he smiles. "I would love to move in with you." 

Dean laughs and allows relief to wash over him. 

"Just out of curiosity, how long have you been planning to ask me to move in?" 

"Honestly?" Cas nods. "Since the first time you came over." Cas rolls his eyes disbelievingly, causing Dean to jump to his own defense. "I'm serious! The first time you came over, you seemed so comfortable. Like you were home."

"That's because I felt like I was home." Cas looks at him, as if mulling over each freckle on his face. "You are my home, Dean Winchester." 

Dean grins, his tongue darting over his lips. "Have I told you today that I love you?" 

"It may have come up but I could use the reminder." 

Dean's grin expands, and he pulls Cas further into him, just barely whispering "I love you, Castiel Novak." 

"I love you, as well." They set their words in stone with a kiss, deep and full. There's nothing sexual about the way Dean is kissing him, as if for once, the only reason he's kissing Cas is for the hell of it. And God, does he love kissing Cas. 

Cas pulls away, leaving Dean hovering forward, relishing in the buzzing of his lips where Cas' had just been. 

"So, what's on the agenda for today?" 

"Well, I was thinking-"

"That's never a good thing." 

"Stop it! Sometimes I have good ideas!"

Cas chuckles and gives in, "okay, yes, sometimes you do have good ideas." 

Dean huffs and continues, "I was thinking, if you aren't doing anything else, we should just, get you moved in now." 

"What, like, _now_ now?" 

"Yeah, like, now." 

"Today?" 

"Yes, right this second!" 

Cas leans back to rest against the couch, a stricken look on his face. "You just can't get enough of me." He states it as a declaration rather than a question. 

"I could never." 

"Dean, you don't just move out in one day, there's a whole process. You have to rent a moving van, and sign papers, and talk to-" 

Dean waves his hands in the air, dismissing Cas' worries. "I know, I know, but who cares? What's the point in waiting?" 

"What's the point in rushing?" Cas volleys. 

Dean rolls his eyes exasperatedly. "Cas, you don't have to worry about everything all the time. I'll take care of everything. We can get a nice big van from Bobby, and he won't even charge us for it. That's all we have to do for now, we can talk to your landlord and make it official later." 

Cas bites his lip, thinking hard. Dean has an uncanny ability to talk Cas into things that always seem like a bad idea. Just look at the first time they did it in the ass. 

"Okay, fine," Cas throws his hands in the air and rises from the couch. "Let's do it." 

~~~~~

"Cas just throw your shit in a box and we can organize it when we get home." 

Dean's getting antsy with Cas trying to pack up all of his stuff in a neat and orderly fashion. Nothing Dean has ever done has been neat and orderly. Apart from murdering people, of course; but when you're in the business of snapping necks and cashing checks, everything needs to have a plan and follow suit, or else bad things happen. 

Kneeling on the floor of his closet, Cas is folding each of his items of clothing and putting them in piles according to the type. He puts t-shirts in one pile, pants in another, shorts, hoodies, long-sleeves, underwear, and shoes are all clustered in separate mountains across the floor. Cas ignores him, nearing the end of the seemingly endless supply of clothing. Dean just sighs and starts putting the shoes into an empty box. 

"Why do you even have so many clothes? You switch between the same five outfits every time I see you." 

Cas just shrugs, focusing intently on taking down and folding the last shirt from his closet. When he throws it on top of the t-shirts pile, he stands with a groan, stretching the stiffness out of his arms and legs. 

"Alright we're finally almost done, just gotta put these piles into boxes and take 'em down to the truck," Dean says, mostly to himself. 

"Do you have any patience?" 

Dean lifts two boxes with a groan, angling his body so he can look at Cas around them. "When it comes to you, no." 

Cas just smiles to himself and follows Dean to the elevator, two boxes in his arms. 

When they've finally gotten all of Cas' things loaded, his apartment is brazen. It looks even more pitiful than it did before. The plain white walls jump out at them as they cross the threshold, hardly offset by the faded, once-dark wood floors. 

"I wish I could say I'm gonna miss this place. But honestly, I can't wait to get out of here and come home every day to a house with air conditioning and decent furnishings." 

"Not to mention you'll be coming home to me." 

Dean snakes his arm around Cas' waist, and Cas leans his head against Dean's shoulder, molding their sides together. They stare into the living room of his barren apartment as if trying to absorb the remaining color from the floors. 

"Let's go home."

~~~~~

Cas' boxes cluttered the floor of their living room and bedroom. Although he didn't have many possessions, he was insistent upon packing everything up neatly to make unloading the boxes easier. 

"I think that's the last of them." Dean sets the box down in the living room and collapses onto the couch, exhausted from the move. 

"We're not done yet, we still have to unload everything." Cas kneels beside a box and opens the flaps, digging through the contents inside. 

Dean groans and stretches across the couch. "Cas, c'mon, we've been at this all day. Can't we take a break? Get something to eat?" 

Cas continues rifling through the box. "I swear Dean Winchester, the only things you ever think about are food and sex." 

Dean chuckles, "yep, about right." He drapes an arm across his eyes. They sit in silence for a moment, the only sound coming from Cas' shifting through his things. Dean forces himself to sit up and look at the back of Cas' head. "We can unpack everything tomorrow, I've got a job with Sam but after that, I'm all yours." 

Cas turns to look at him. "Promise?" 

Dean stands and ruffles Cas' hair. "Yes, I promise. Now can we please get something to eat?" He extends a hand to Cas and pulls him to his feet. Their hips flush, Cas' head tilted lazily to the side and glasses slightly off-center, Dean presses a kiss to his forehead. They walk to the kitchen and Cas hops on the counter while Dean examines the food in the pantry. "I guess I haven't been grocery shopping in a while. . ." he mumbles to himself. 

Cas perks up, a thought popping into his head. "Dean! We've never gone grocery shopping together!" 

His head now in the freezer, Dean replies, "yeah, and? Grocery shopping is nothing to get excited about." 

"What are you talking about? Grocery shopping is fun! Especially when you have money to buy real food." 

Dean barks a laugh. "Well, what have you been buying at the fucking store? Fake food?" He walks over to Cas and puts his hands on his thighs. Cas rests his own on Dean's hips, inviting him to come closer. 

"I'm in college, I'm broke. I've been living on rice and Ramen for months. Plus I have-" he corrects himself with a shake of his head, "-had bills to pay." 

Dean can understand why Cas would be excited about finally being able to buy decent food. "Well, not anymore." He takes Cas' hand, pulling him down from his seat on the counter, and grabs his keys. Cas is beaming as he follows Dean to the Impala. 

~~~~~

Once they get out to the main road, they find themselves at a dilemma. 

"What do you mean you go to Wal-Mart for groceries? You make all that money but choose to shop at Wal-Mart?" 

"It's all the same shit! It's not like the brands change from store to store, the food is still the same no matter where you buy it from." 

"We are not going to Wal-Mart for our first shopping experience together." 

Dean shakes his head and gives in, "okay sunshine, then where do you wanna go?" 

"Target, obviously." The answer was not at all obvious to Dean, but he thinks it best to not argue. After all, it is their first shopping experience together. Regardless of how particular Cas is about where they shop, he can tell how excited he is. It's probably been years since Cas has gone grocery shopping with the intent of purchasing over fifty dollars worth of food. Real food, at that.

They pull into the Target parking lot, which was oddly vacant for a Thursday night. They park and head inside, trying to avoid being run over by soccer moms piloting SUV's. 

"This place gives me the creeps." 

"Dean, you shop at Wal-Mart. That place is the definition of creepy." 

"Yeah, well. . . I don't like it. This is my definition of creepy." 

They push a cart down the main aisle, heading towards the food section at the back of the store. One of the wheels of the cart turns maddeningly to the left, but neither one of them mentions it. 

Eventually, they make it down to the soda aisle, where their food quest will begin. Cas is radiating with excitement, hardly able to contain himself with all the possibilities. 

"Alrighty, then," Dean begins, scanning over the huge supply of two-liter soda bottles, "where do we start?"

"I don't drink much soda." 

Dean rolls his eyes, realizing for the first time that this may be more complicated than he originally thought. "I know that, but I do drink soda. You don't want anything?" 

Cas looks over the huge selection, then back at Dean. "You really shouldn't drink soda, it isn't good for you." 

Dean sighs and grabs a container of Dr. Pepper from the top shelf. 

"No, get Mountain Dew," Cas protests. 

Dean looks at him, dumbfounded. "I thought you didn't want any soda!" 

"Well, I changed my mind!" Cas throws his hands up and shrugs his shoulders. 

"For the love of God. . ." Dean mumbles to himself. "Grab a bottle, I'm still getting my Dr. Pepper."

Cas does as he's told, removing the two-liter and placing it in their cart. They move to the next aisle, which contains an array of snacks. Granola bars, nut assortments, trail mix, all sorts of stuff. 

Cas smiles a huge smile and takes off down the aisle. He grabs box after box of granola bars from the shelves, all in different brands and shapes and sizes. 

"Jesus Christ, you saving up for the apocalypse or something?" 

Cas turns away from the shelf, his arms laden with boxes of granola bars. He approaches the cart and dumps his treasure. "It doesn't hurt to be prepared." 

He then moves to the opposite shelves and takes down a couple bags of trail mix, a box of Ritz crackers, and a huge jar of almonds. Dean looks at him wide-eyed, but says nothing. He simply grabs a box of Cheez-Its from the shelf and adds them to the heap of boxes already forming in their cart. 

They move onto the next aisle. 

Candy. Just candy. Dean's favorite aisle. When Dean starts pushing the cart down the aisle, Cas grabs his arm. "We don't need anything from this one." 

Dean's mouth hangs open. He can't believe what he just heard. "It's the candy aisle, Cas!" 

Cas makes the same face a mother makes at a child throwing a tantrum. "You really should start eating healthier, Dean. Your diet consists of candy, pie, and alcohol." 

"Okay," Dean starts. He plants his feet directly in front of Cas, squaring up to him to propose his argument. "I've never had any motivation to eat healthy, or to cook healthy meals. And I don't like cooking for one, so I never needed to buy healthy shit to make for myself." 

Cas cuts him off when he takes a breath, "but you've cooked for me before! I know you know how to cook, and you're good at it-" 

Dean raises a hand to silence him. "Yes, so now that you're living with me, we can buy lots of rabbit food, healthy, organic shit to make. But that doesn't mean I can't still get some snacks. You can't eat healthy all the time." 

Cas smiles at him and reaches out to touch Dean's hip. His hand twitches instead, his brain screaming at his body to stop. 

_You're in public! You can't do that! People might see!_

He forces a smile through the haze of discomfort that had just formed in his head. It had come out of instinct, just a natural touch. It was normal for Cas to touch Dean, to grab his hip, to run a hand through his hair. It was natural for them.

Dean either doesn't notice or doesn't say anything about Cas' mild episode, so they continue down the candy aisle. Dean throws in bags of peanut M&M's, Twizzlers, Gummi Bears, Oreos, you name it, and it was probably in their cart. Cas settled on a bag of pretzels and cool ranch Doritos, to which Dean countered by adding a bag of potato chips and white cheddar popcorn. Their cart was half-full now. And they hadn't even started on the _real_ food, yet. 

"I'm gonna go back up to the front and grab another cart," Cas says from somewhere far away. He hardly hears Dean's response, because he was already heading out of sight. 

On his way to the front of the store, Cas tried to calm himself down. Most of the time, when he starts getting upset or frustrated with the status of his and Dean's relationship, it passes within seconds because it's worth the sneaking around and stolen kisses if it meant he'd have Dean. But for some reason, he couldn't shake off the feeling today. It was persistent, hungry, eager to destroy his good mood. It seemed that the world was trying to destroy his good mood, and he hated it. Although he would never admit it, and as much as he denies it to himself, he really does hate the world he's a part of. He hates the world for constantly threatening his happiness. Why did it matter if he would rather kiss a boy than a girl? What does it matter? It shouldn't be up to people he doesn't even know to make decisions that affect his entire existence. Not only that, but why in the fuck do people care what he does with his life? How does it affect them? How does his kissing a boy affect other people in the world in the slightest? He hadn't the faintest clue. And it angered him. It was maddening. He hopes it makes Dean angry too, but he could never ask. Even if he did, Cas was certain Dean would lie to him. He always lies about his feelings. 

That fucking bastard. 

During his meandering back to the food section, Cas realized why he couldn't shake the feeling today: because his and Dean's relationship is moving a step forward. They're moving in together. That's a huge deal! The next step up is marriage. He hadn't realized it until now, maybe because he'd always suppressed the feeling, but Cas wanted to marry Dean. He wanted, and was willing, to take that step in their relationship. Thinking about it now, he'd known for months that Dean is the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He'd also known, long before he met Dean, that gay marriage is not legal. So any hope of him making their lifetime-love official was shattered by the government. 

Sigh. 

I guess all he has is now, for the moment. And he'd have to live with that. So Cas claws his way out of the cavern of his thoughts, and focuses on the task at hand. Buying as many goddamn groceries as he could fit in two carts. 

He finds his way back to Dean, who was somehow still mulling over options in the candy aisle. It took everything in him not to wrap his arms around Dean and plant a kiss on his lips. Instead, he pulls the carts side by side, glancing into the half-full one. He didn't mention the extra bag of popcorn and can of Pringles Dean had added to their cart while he was gone. 

They plow through the rest of the aisles. Each one received similar treatment to the last ones, with Cas throwing in box after box, bag after bag of food. They spent a particularly long time in the alcohol section, where Dean generously supplied a bottle of red wine, their most expensive bottle of champagne, and several bottles of hard liquor (each varying in type and brand). By the time they'd gone through all the aisles and picked out a good balance of healthy and non-healthy foods, both carts were filled to the brim. They had a hard time wheeling everything up to the front and had to go very slowly out of fear of their groceries spilling over the sides.

"You must think I'm made of money," Dean says dubiously, as they approach the registers. 

"That's right, I do. I'm only in this for the money. I don't care about your freckles, or, personality, or, sex appeal, or-" 

"Alright, enough of that," Dean commands. He leans into Cas just a bit, ensuring that no one was listening in. "Save it for later." 

It took the cashier almost twenty minutes to scan and bag everything. When the total came out to be $587.33, Dean didn't bat an eye. He simply handed over his card, apologized to the lady for their huge order, and wheeled their bags through the exit. As they entered the nearly deserted parking lot, Cas could feel Dean relax beside him. When they reached the Impala, Dean abandoned their carts and pushed Cas against the back door, engrossing him in a desperate kiss. 

Immediately, Cas' brain told him to protest. It told him that this was a bad idea, that anyone could see them out here. 

But the thrill of being with Dean like this in public enthralled him. It set his heart trampling in his chest, trying to balance out the blood rushing from one end of his body to the other. It was dangerous, and Cas liked it. It's like they say, greater risk, greater rewards. So, Cas kissed him back. He had the audacity to press his hands under Dean's shirt and into his back, urging him to come closer, getting off on the thrill of being out in the open. 

The thing is, Cas should have listened to his brain. He should have pushed Dean off of him and pretended to be angry, asked him what the hell he thinks he's doing. But he didn't. 

Dean disconnects their lips and pulls back with a smirk. He grabs Cas' hand and peels his coat from the car door. Dean had just started to speak when a booming voice interrupts him. "Hey!" 

They both look in the direction of the voice, and what they see cuts the tendon holding Cas' heart suspended in his chest. In a millisecond, he feels his once-hammering heart cease to beat and drop into his stomach. 

Three burly guys were making their way toward them. Cas had no idea where they'd come from, or how he and Dean hadn't seen them in the parking lot. The one leading the posse opens his mouth to growl, "you fucking faggots." 

Cas is rooted to his spot, frozen like a snowman. Dean, thankfully, is not. He reacts when the guys are no more than 10 feet away. He drops Cas' hand and uses his elbow and forearm to shove him back against the Impala. Cas' back meets the hard metal and his head snaps forward. Dean steps back and directly in front of Cas, his arms extended on either side of him protectively, acting as a shield. 

The guys waste no time in getting down to business. As soon as he was in spitting distance, the leader reared his arm back and took a swing at Dean. The guy hit him in the hollow of his cheek, and Dean's whole body was flung to the ground. Without Dean in front of him, Cas shrunk against the car. These guys could stomp on him as easily as they would a spider, and Cas knew he was helpless. These guys were gonna kill him. He was going to die in a Target parking lot. 

"Dean?" Cas' voice was hardly a whisper, a final plead that even he knew was futile. 

The guy who'd hit Dean turned to face Cas, and in the gleam of a streetlight, his eyes were practically burning with hatred. Drowning in a resentment so potent it made Cas quake. In the moment that they locked eyes, Cas' only thought was how it had come to this. How could someone he had never met loathe him so blatantly? And for what? For being with the person he loves? For kissing a boy in a parking lot? 

The leader laughed, a malicious smile opened on his face. "I always hope you'll at least put up a fight, but you pussies prove me wrong every time." The man chuckles at his own words, mirrored by the laughing of the two guys behind him. "You faggots are gonna rot in hell." 

He closed his eyes and braced himself for a punch that never landed. He heard a scuffle, and then the sound of a body crashing to the ground. He opened his eyes to see Dean kneeled on top of the leader, laying into him. The other two guys grabbed both of Dean's arms and heaved him off, throwing him on his back. When they went in to grab him again, he kicked them both in the groin and they doubled over in unison. Dean rose to his feet and grabbed one of them by the shoulders. With strength that astounded Cas, he threw the guy into a neighboring car, and he crumpled like a beer can. The other attacker had regained his composure and swung at Dean, landing somewhere between his cheekbone and temple. Dean's vision went black and he teetered on his feet, but stayed upright. The guy attempted another punch, and Dean ducked, just barely avoiding the blow. He planted his fist in the guy's stomach, causing him to double over once more. Dean then brought his knee up and struck the guy squarely in the forehead, bringing down the third man. 

When all three of the attackers were lying motionless on the ground, the silence was broken only by Dean's ragged breaths. When he came out of his stupor, he approached Cas and put his hands on either side of his face. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" 

"No, no, I'm fine but we- we need to get out of here," Cas wasn't looking at Dean, even though their faces were inches apart. He was staring wide-eyed at the men lying on the ground. None of them were moving. 

"Cas, look at me," Dean said sternly. Cas couldn't pull his eyes away from the scene in front of him. 

"Cas, I need you to look at me," Dean's voice was unwavering but desperate. 

"Did-" his eyes were still glued to the men, "did you kill them?" 

"No, baby, they're just unconscious. They'll be in a lot of pain when they wake up, but they'll be fine." 

Cas couldn't tear his eyes away. 

"Cas." Dean moved his hands down to his neck and over his shoulders, then back up to his face. 

"Cas!" Dean said forcefully. Finally, Cas tore his gaze away to meet Dean's eyes. They were pleading and desperate, matching his tone. 

"I thought they were gonna kill me, Dean," Cas' voice broke at 'kill.' 

Dean nodded in agreement. "They probably would have, which is why we need to not be here when they wake up." 

Cas nodded, but his emotions betrayed him. A tear slipped from his eye and rolled down his cheek, and then he couldn't stop them. He drew a battered breath, and Dean pulled him into a tight hug before he started sobbing completely. 

"It's okay, it's okay," Dean tried convincing him. Cas buried his face in Dean's shoulder, muffling his sobs. "It's fine, they can't hurt you. You're okay." Cas sinks his fingers into Dean's jacket. He wanted to believe Dean, he really did. He knew those guys couldn't hurt them, but what about all the other men like them? 

He realized then that people would never change. This was how it would be for them forever. 

All his hopes of a bright future with Dean evaporated.


	3. The Beginning: Part Three

_what am i to you_ he asks

i put my hands in his lap

and whisper _you_

_are every hope_

_i've ever had_

_in human form_

\- rupi kaur

 

_**October 2007** _

 

"Cas! I'm heading out," Dean yells upstairs as he's heading towards the door. He stops at the landing, waiting for him to come and say goodbye. It's become a habit of theirs: every morning when Dean leaves, Cas stops his morning routine to say goodbye. Because he knows that today could potentially be the last day that they see each other. Cas hates Dean's job; he's terrified that Dean is going to leave one morning and Sam is going to come back, with tears in his eyes and sorrow in his voice. But he never complains to Dean, because Dean understands how he feels, even more-so than Cas. He knows what it's like for someone he loves to leave and not come back. Cas hasn't experienced that loss, and hopefully never will.

It's the early morning, and the sun is just barely peeking through the tree line. It gets darker later every morning and earlier every night. It's late October, Dean can't remember what the date is; they all seem to blur together.

All his days with Cas blur together.

When he comes striding down the upstairs hallway, Dean can't help but smile. The tips of his hair are still dripping from his shower, and spots of water bleed through his white cotton shirt. He turns to trot down the steps, and the sun rays dip in between the blinds from the window to cast a yellow glow on his back.

Cas reaches the bottom and throws his arms around Dean's neck without any warning. Dean sways and nearly tumbles before steadying and snaking his arms around Cas' slim waist, returning the hug.

"Morning, sunshine," Dean mumbles into Cas' shoulder. He breathes in his boyfriend's fresh scent, a comforting and warm aroma that he'd grown accustomed to. He smells like home.

"Good morning, Dean," Cas murmurs in his gruff voice that in no way matches his caring personality.

But Dean loves it. He loves everything about Cas.

They stand together in the warm morning light, just breathing together. Just existing together. Together: it's such a beautiful word. There's nothing Dean would rather do than stand here with Cas, in their two-story house with big windows and strong coffee. There's no one Dean would rather be one half of 'together' with.

"I gotta go, Cas," he whispers gently, loosening his grip.

"Be careful," Cas pleads, arms still wrapped tight around Dean's neck.

"Always, Cas, I always am. You know that."

He keeps silent. Cas doesn't show any intention of releasing the hug.

"Cas. . ."

Silence.

"I love you."

Cas sighs, unlacing his arms. Dean's hands slide out from behind his back to rest on Cas' hips. His head is tilted slightly, looking at Dean dejectedly through crystal blue, hooded eyes.

"I love you, as well."

Dean chuckles and looks to his feet.

"What are you laughing about?" Cas inquires seriously.

"You're just funny, Cas. You know, how you say 'I love you, as well' instead of 'I love you, too,' like all the normal people."

Cas furrows his eyebrows, "we're not normal people, Dean."

Dean isn't smiling anymore.

"No, we're not," Dean agrees, somewhat somberly. These 'goodbye's' with Cas every morning are always a bit melancholy. He hates doing this to him. But he promised he'd always come back to Cas, no matter what. He'd always put his own safety ahead of everything else, because he has someone to come home to every day, someone who's counting on him to come home.

Dean knows how rough Cas' childhood was, and Cas knows Dean's was worse. He thinks that's why they work so well together; they understand how it feels to be abandoned. Hated. Betrayed. 

And they don't have to say a word to understand what the other is thinking.

"Well, if you think about it, 'as well' is technically more grammatically correct in the rhetorical sense," Cas states seriously.

Dean chuckles again, shaking his head.

"Dammit, Cas," he breathes through gritted teeth. Dean takes his hand away from Cas' hip, rests it on the side of his face instead. He thumbs over Cas' cheek, "I'm so in love with you." Dean looks at him as if in a trance, tongue resting on the roof of his mouth, lips barely parted, with a slight smile. He looks at Cas airily, and seconds melt into minutes.

Cas smiles softly, "go before I make you late."

Dean leans in and presses their lips together, firmly, a quick parting kiss. Dean would do anything to stay at home with Cas forever, but he knows that's completely impractical. Unfortunately, that doesn't stop him from fantasizing about a life where everything is okay, and he and Cas are considered people rather than damaged goods. A life where homophobia and judgment and abandonment and pain didn't exist.

And he could stay here with Cas forever.

He turns on his heel and strides away before Cas has the chance to distract him any longer. 

~~~~~

"How's Cas?" Sam asks on their drive to the job.

Dean's stony expression drips off his face at the sound of his name. He licks his lips and barely mumbles, "he's good." A small pause, "we're good."

"That's all I get? 'We're good?' That's all you have to say about him?"

"Well what do you want me to say?" Dean asks incredulously.

"I don't know, you guys have been dating for almost a year now and you hardly ever talk about him, it would just be nice to hear _something_ about how you guys are doing."

"What, you want details? You wanna know about how I come home every night and Cas just can't keep his hands off me? Dude's a monster in bed, let me tell you-" Dean takes a hand off the wheel and raises his butt from the seat, "he does this thing-"

"Alright enough!"

Dean howls with laughter while Sam sighs in frustration. He bites his lip, trying not to get angry.

"You know that's not what I meant, Dean."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I just-" he starts giggling, "I couldn't help myself." He bursts out laughing again, deep belly rumbles, "your face was priceless, Sammy. Priceless."

When he'd finally sobered up, Sam stared out the window dejectedly.

"What, you're not talking to me now?"

"Not until you decide to be serious for once."

Dean rolls his eyes, but softens his features. He doesn't want to talk about Cas because he doesn't want to ruin it. He's afraid that if he talks about how happy he is, something will go wrong, like he'll jinx it. Something always goes wrong.

He wants to keep Cas all for himself, a secret little world for just the two of them. He can't tell Sam about how Cas pours extra coffee grounds into the pot when Dean isn't looking because he knows how much Dean likes strong coffee, even though he hates it. He can't tell him about the curve of Cas' back when he's sleeping on his stomach, or his cobalt blue eyes that sparkle when he looks at the sky. He can't tell him about the scar on Cas' left calf that he put there himself; how badly it hurts Dean to think that at some point in his life, Cas felt the need to cut three letters into his skin.

Because if he tells Sam about all the good things, they won't be only his anymore. He doesn't want to share Cas with anyone; not even Sam.

He keeps silent.

Eventually, after a bit of uncomfortable silence broken only by a few classic rock songs, they arrive at the warehouse.

The mission was simple, routine: some big shot company owner doesn't want to get his hands dirty, but needs to tie up a few loose ends. So he calls Bobby, and Bobby sends his two best assassins: Sam and Dean. People on the street call them the Brutal Brothers; they do what needs to be done without causing trouble, and their name is not easily forgotten. They were efficacious killers, and everyone who's anyone knows their name. Some of the big shots are loyal customers and have not only requested the two, but recommended them to others in need. All the guys in high places have met with Sam and Dean at least once; most left as new clients, others as new targets.

The target today was a Russian businessman who earned his wealth running illegal scams on Wall Street.

Official Name: Donnatine Grigori.

Code Name: Jaguar Claw.

Dean drives the Impala into a concealed area under a low hanging tree after grabbing their sniper gear from the trunk. They ensure the car is completely concealed beneath the leaves before ascending the fire escape to the roof of the factory directly next to the warehouse that Donnatine will supposedly be arriving at. It wasn't specified what Donnatine's business at the warehouse is, but Dean doesn't care; it's not his job to know about whatever beef this guy's got with his client. He knows his mission, and that mission is to make this day Donnatine's last.

Without getting himself killed, of course. He made a promise, and this day certainly won't be his last.

They scope out the roof: it's relatively simple, a door in the middle leads down into the stairwells of the building. Not much up top except for a handful of weird looking pipes and circular tubes that drip some sort of hot liquid, probably oil. Like nearly every roof ever built, it has a parapet that outlines the perimeter to prevent people from falling off.

Clumsy bastards.

Sam and Dean set down their equipment on the side closest to the warehouse, so that they can easily look down on the road leading to it and the open, grassy area for parking. They silently assemble their sniper rifles, adding suppressors, red dot sights, and variable zooms. Dean mounts his rifle on the edge and takes a knee in front of the scope. He peeks down the sight and gives the area a quick sweep before leaning back.

Dean checks his watch. 9:52.

"He should be here any minute," Dean says absentmindedly, squinting through the bright sunlight. Big shots like Donnatine Grigori are not known to be late for business meetings, or any event, for that matter.

It's a hot day for October, and sitting in the sun in jeans and a heavy leather jacket is not the most pleasurable experience. Sweat trails begin making their way down the boys' faces, but neither even considers complaining. What's the point in complaining about something they can't change?

Dean had said that to Cas once.

_"Why don't you ever talk to me about your childhood?" Cas had asked him._

_Dean gave him a hard look, "because there's nothing to talk about." When Cas didn't respond, Dean exhales sharply, exasperated. "You wanna talk about my childhood?" he asks a bit too aggressively. "My mom died in a house fire when I was four. My dad was an alcoholic who'd leave Sam and I alone in our shitty apartment to go get drunk. Sometimes he'd come back, and when he did, he was not in a very loving mood," his voice dripped with malice._

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_Cas looked like he regretted asking. "Dean. . ." his voice trailed off._

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_"Other times, I'd ride my bike to the bar to drag him home. I can't even describe the places I'd find him passed out." His face twists as if he'd just taken a spoonful of sour sugar._

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_Dean stays silent, staring at a spot on the ground off to his left._

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_"What do you want me to say, Cas?" He snaps his head up to look at him. His eyes are drooping, and he looks at Dean pityingly._

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_"You want me to be blunt? You want me to say outright that he'd hit me?" He says it plainly, as if he'd questioned what they'd be having for dinner._

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_Cas starts, "Dean, I'm sor-" Dean cuts him off sharply._

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_"How about that, for some reason, my dad saw me as an ashtray? I'm sure you've noticed them," he rolls his shirt sleeve up his bicep, but Cas is staring at the floor. "Look at me, for fuck's sake!" His voice cracks when he raises it. He presses his lips together, sets his jaw, trying his best to keep his emotions in._

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_When Cas lifts his head, his eyes are glazed over, and a tear glides crookedly down his stubbled cheek._

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_"What about these?" He questions, tugging down the neckline of his shirt to reveal his collarbone. The small circular scars pepper his clavicle. They've faded over the years to the point they're hardly noticeable, but Dean can't ignore them. They stare at him when he looks in the mirror, laughing at his pain, whispering that he's pathetic, screaming that he's just weak. Just like his dad always did._

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_He lets a single tear drip down his face before releasing his collar and taking a single swipe at his eyes._

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_"I'm sorry," Cas breathed remorsefully._

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_"Stop saying you're sorry!" Dean hissed through gritted teeth. Cas looks to the floor again, and another tear slips out of his eye and down his other cheek._

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_Dean lowers his voice, speaking sensitively, "It's only a problem when I talk about it." Cas looks up at him; his normally crystal blue eyes are even brighter now that they'd been leaking his liquid grief. Dean furrows his eyebrows, twists his face into a defeated expression. "And me talking about it isn't gonna fix anything, so what's the point in talking about something neither one of us can change?" he asks in a conclusive manner, ending the conversation._

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_"Dean," Cas mutters, sounding alarmed._

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_"Dean?" he hisses fervently._

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"Dean!" He jumps, realizing Sam had been calling his name. "Snap out of it, they're here." And sure enough, three shiny black cars were bumbling down the graveled road toward the abandoned warehouse, one in front of the other. The middle car, Dean assumed, would be the one that Donnatine will emerge from. While all three were sleek black with tinted, reflective windows, the middle car was certainly larger than the two surrounding. What's more, it appeared to be armored more heavily than its companions.

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Dean confirmed his assumptions through a pair of binoculars, relaying the information to Sam, before handing them over to see for himself.

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"Guess we'll have to wait 'till he's out," Sam declares.

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Dean positions himself in front of his sniper once again, and follows the cars down the road through the scope.

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Neither Dean nor Sam says a word until the three cars are parked, and they watch in silence as two bodyguards step out of each smaller black car, and three step out of the middle truck that carries Donnatine. They each assemble outside the backseat on the driver's side, all business, each dressed to the nine's in black suits and dark sunglasses.

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Dean smirks to himself. Typical.

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They circle around Donnatine, and he has a smug, stuck-up look on his face like nobody's business. Dean hates people like Donnatine Grigori, people who have everything handed to them, who brag about their superiority from a throne of lies atop a tower of cards.

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Dean's about to send that tower crumbling down.

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Despite his hatred for practically every man he'd ever killed, and the fact that he's been in this position more times than he cares to count, he still always breaks into a cold sweat. His heart is hammering against his sternum, pushing blood and adrenaline through his veins. Regardless, his hands are steady. His jaw is set, and he has a clear shot at Grigori.

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Everything slows for a moment, and he focuses his eyes, blurring his other senses, peering down the sight like an eagle stalking its breakfast.

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"Dean, take the shot!" Sam hisses at him. Dean hardly hears it as more than a muffled whisper.

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He keeps silent.

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He knows what he's doing; Dean inhales sharply through his nose. He exhales to the beat of his heart pulsing in his ears, and when all the air has vacated his lungs, he squeezes the trigger.

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The suppressor almost completely muffles the shot, but the sound of the bullet lodging itself in the left side of Grigori's head rang out clear as day in the quiet autumn setting. From the misted blood cloud that immediately emanates around his head, and the scarlet red liquid pouring over his ear and down the side of his face and neck, Dean knows he doesn't stand a chance; Donnatine Grigori is dead before he hits the ground.

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As always, the guards wear looks of complete confusion, whipping their heads around wildly, looking everywhere for their attackers. Sam and Dean knew better than to wait around, and when one of the men starts shouting and pointing in their direction, Dean had already slung the sniper over his shoulder and across his chest, and Sam's equipment bag was packed.

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They dart towards the stairwell leading up to the roof at the same time that four of the guards kick in the door on the ground floor. Sam rips a loose pipe from the ground, and lodges it between the door handles. He bends the ends down and around towards each other, creating a (hopefully) effective seal.

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"You think that'll hold 'em?" Sam inquires breathlessly.

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"Maybe, but the other three are gonna be coming up the fire escape, so we gotta move. Now," Dean says sternly, running as fast as he can with a twenty-pound rifle on his back.

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They reach the fire escape and trot down the stairs, Sam several feet behind Dean. After taking three flights, they hear the unmistakable, noisy thumping of the guards coming towards them.

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"Sam, watch my back," Dean orders a bit too calmly for the situation they're in. He listens to Sam as he clicks the magazine into position and pulls back the slide to load a bullet into the chamber. Adrenaline still pumping through Dean's veins, he takes on a look of determination and hatred, the guards' clambering becoming louder, coming closer.

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Rather than going towards the racket, Dean waits patiently for the bimbos to make it up to them. It always works better when he waits, when he's patient. Cas had always told him that.

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The guards turn the corner onto the flat step of the flight directly below the brothers. The first man in black appears surprised. . . by what? Dean's ability to remain calm and collected despite the possibility that he is more than likely to get the shit beat out of him in a few short moments? As if he cares. He'd had worse.

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The guard sets his jaw and bounds up the few remaining stairs, and right as he's about to cross the middle step, Dean jumps. He latches onto the open step above his head and uses his momentum to swing his lower half forward, his feet hitting the unsuspecting guard squarely in the chest. Dean releases the above stair and allows himself to drop with the guard to the lower flattened step. He lands on his feet, a bit wobbly, straddling the guard's chest, who now lays on the ground, unconscious. Must've hit his head.

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Out of nowhere, his left cheek is split open. His head spins with the weight of his falling body as he collapses to the ground: the second guard had roundhouse-kicked him. Dean pushes himself to his feet, already in a fighting stance, showing no weakness. He stares that bastard in black in the eyes - or, at least, where he thought his eyes must be behind the opaque sunglasses - and puts his fists up, rolling his knuckles. The guard has a smirk on his lips, looking easily at Dean, like he's a snack. As if he can't possibly handle himself in a fight.

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"Try me," he hisses at the guard, and he does. The guard swings his right fist, aiming to be powerful rather than quick. Big mistake.

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Dean dodges the lazy punch easily. He ducks and twists, dropping to land on his ass and slide behind the guard. He didn't even have a chance; the guard's bulky form pulled him forward, his whole body following his fist. Dean shifts to his back and uses both his feet to kick in the backs of the guard's knees. He lets out a strangled grunt as he drops like a sack of potatoes, Dean moving swiftly in an opposite motion. He swings his leg over the guard and knocks his lights out in two quick jabs to the temple.

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He doesn't mingle over the second guard, but instead, diverts his gaze to the third. This one is quick, and he just hardly manages to jump into the railing as a small, silver blade slices through the air with a swish. The steel beams bite into his back as he slams into them, stealing the breath from his lungs. Dean is still flat on his ass, but the smaller-framed guard approaches him swiftly, and he just has time to wrap his arms around the lower bar and kick the guard hard in the stomach, sending him tumbling down the flight of stairs he'd just climbed. Dean stands up rapidly to regain his composure, resetting his cold demeanor, and peers down the stairs.

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The guard was on one knee, but looking up towards Dean determinedly, otherwise unscathed. He rises slowly, never breaking eye contact with Dean, angling the small silver blade towards the ground menacingly. Dean sets his jaw, balls his hands into fists by his sides. Then, he hears a commotion above him. He looks to the flight of stairs above him and sees Sam leaning over the handrail. He yells down, "the other four just got through upstairs, I'll take care of 'em, you finish up down here!"

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"Okay, but be careful, Sammy," Dean calls up. Sam gives Dean a small nod before rushing up the few flights they'd just come down. Dean refocuses his attention on the guard below him.

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He asks teasingly, "what're you waiting for, huh? Come and get it, ya fucking bastard."

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The guard, rather than being surprised, or even angry, simply smirks up at Dean, raising a defiant eyebrow in his direction. He stays silent as he reaches his empty hand behind his head, presumably for a weapon. Dean readies himself to bound down the stairs at the first sign of a gun, but instead, finds himself surprised. The guard pulls a ponytail out of her hair, shaking it out like they do in the movies, and removes her sunglasses, throwing them over the railing. Her hair was medium length, and a bright, natural blonde. She wore little make-up, and the little she did wear was only to accentuate her features. To say the least, she was hot, and the small smirk on her lips told Dean that she knew he was surprised.

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"I prefer bitch," she says plainly, with a thick British accent.

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Dean smirks right back, trying not to appear phased, "my apologies. But regardless of whatever pronoun you associate with, I will not hesitate to kick your ass."

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She tightens her grip on the blade, narrowing her eyes at him like a cat stalking its prey. "I wouldn't have it any other way," her voice drips with malice, coated in mockery.

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Without a moment's notice, she bolts up the stairs; however, Dean was ready, expectant of her spontaneous actions. He leans forward and grabs onto the upper stair, attempting the same move on this female guard that he'd tried on the first, but she was too quick. As his momentum propels him forward, the guard sheaths her knife and latches onto Dean's right leg, and throws him forward with a grunt. He's unable to stop himself from falling, so he twists in midair in a feeble attempt to lessen the damage when he collapses in a heap on the flat step. His neck jerks backward, slamming his head as he connects with the steel railing. His head spins and his vision briefly goes black. He faintly feels the guards form hovering over him, before she splits open his bottom lip. Dean opens his eyes, just to catch a right hook to the eye. His head jerks to the right as the bruise begins to swell, his head still pounding from the impact. Another right hook lands just below the spot she'd just hit, right on his cheekbone, and his head lolls back against the rail, unable to hold up the weight. His mouth slightly agape, breathing heavily, he tries to lift his arms to throw her off of him. She quickly kneels down over his lap, grabbing his wrists to pin them down with her knees on both sides. She lets her full weight rest on him as she unsheathes her blade.

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Dean licks his lips, his eyes fluttering hazily as his head droops to the side. He mumbles out teasingly, "at least let me buy you dinner first."

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"Cocky even after getting his ass beat. You should be ashamed, Dean Winchester." She holds the blade in front of his face tauntingly, dragging it over his cheek lightly.

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"You know my name, only fair if I know yours," he responds conversationally, buying time before she carves him up.

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She ponders his request before saying simply, "Toni. Toni Bevell."

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Dean crows, "even your name sounds like a bad fucking joke, Jesus Christ. . ." he trails off.

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His comment clearly pisses her off, because she narrows her eyes at him and furrows her eyebrows before smacking him hard with the back of her hand. Dean opens and closes his mouth, popping his jaw, and when he turns his head back to face her, she isn't looking playful or taunting. She raises the knife up to his face and Dean instinctively leans his head back away from it. He wasn't smirking anymore either.

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"Do you really want to continue being a smart ass?" She asks in a hard, professional voice.

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Dean keeps silent.

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He flares his nostrils, closes his eyes.

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She clucks her tongue, "not the answer I was looking for." She presses down hard, the blade piercing his skin, as she drags a line down his cheek. He winces at the cut, but still remains silent.

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"Not much of a talker when you're helpless," she pauses, eyeing him pityingly. She leans into his chest, breathing in his ear, "how pathetic." She leans back and raises the blade up to his chin, forcing his face upward, exposing his neck.

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Her weight is suddenly thrown off of him. Dean opens his eyes to see Sam towering above him, gun in hand pointed at Toni, who now lays sprawled on her back on the bottom few steps going up. With her hands on her head, the knife lays motionless beside her.

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"Nobody fucks with my brother," Sam states coolly, his voice unwavering as he loads a bullet into the chamber.

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"Wait, Sam, don't," Dean speaks up hastily. He pushes himself to his feet, making his head spin even more than before. Sam glances at him in disbelief, speaking softly, "Dean, she tried to kill you. She would have killed you."

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"I know, but it's okay. I would've killed her, too, if I had the chance. Let's just leave her, handcuff her to the railing." Dean grabs Sam's shoulder leaning closer into him, murmuring quietly, "she doesn't need to die, Sammy."

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Sam shakes his head disapprovingly, but holsters his gun nonetheless. He swings the bag around from off his back and pulls out the handcuffs.

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"Oooh, kinky," she smirks at them with a raised eyebrow, hands still glued to her head. Sam sends one more depraved look Dean's way before cuffing Toni's wrist to the railing and kicking the discarded knife over the edge.

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"Bye-bye, boys, we'll meet again soon," she smiles mockingly at them, and Dean simply scowls in return. She waves her manicured, unoccupied hand at the brothers as Dean wraps his arm around Sam's shoulders. Sam grips Dean's waist and practically carries him down the last few flights of stairs.

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"I'm sorry I couldn't get there sooner, Dean, the guys at the top-" Dean cuts him off, "don't worry about it, seriously, I get it." He's holding an ice pack to the welt on his cheek and his undoubtedly black eye. These are the only times he ever lets Sam drive, and he always feels a bit uneasy in the passenger seat. When they get to Cas and Dean's house, Sam parks the car in the driveway, kills the engine, then hurries around the front of the Impala to help Dean inside. They manage to shuffle up to the front door, Dean pushing it open with one hand, still using Sam as support. Immediately Cas runs over to them, a terribly worried look on his pure, gentle face.

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"Dammit, Dean," he says imploringly, quickly shouldering Dean's arm, taking the weight away from Sam.

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"I'm sorry-" Dean swallows thickly, "-I'm sorry, Cas."

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"He got worked pretty bad, as you can see. There wasn't much I could do. . ." Sam trails off apologetically.

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"No, Sam, I understand. What you two do. . . it's difficult. Thank you for bringing him home in one piece," Cas gives him a small, warm smile.

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"Of course, Cas, call me if you guys need anything," Sam says on his way out the door.

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When they're finally alone, Cas half leads, half carries Dean into the living room and drops him on the couch as gently as possible. He then goes and locks the front door (he's always paranoid), and takes Dean's melted ice pack and throws it out, replacing it with a better one he keeps handy in the freezer. He also grabs a first aid kit from the cabinet under the kitchen sink, as well as a bottle of Bourbon and a glass of ice, then returns to Dean's side. Dean isn't as out of it as he was before, but his head is still spinning like a top, and his face has had better days. Cas takes off Dean's leather jacket and the layer of plaid underneath, leaving him in just his faded blue jeans and a grey t-shirt.

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Cas took a few first aid classes for these purposes specifically; when Dean comes home bruised and bloody. He's too much of a man to ever go to the hospital, and as much as it hurts him to say, Dean has come home in much worse conditions. He examines Dean's face, deciding that his cheek wound and split lip would be the most important. There's not much he can do for the bruise blooming on the left side of his face, other than give him ice, antibiotics, and alcohol. As for his headache, Cas hopes Dean doesn't have a concussion, but he does think it's entirely possible. He places a few drops of the rubbing alcohol on a Q-Tip, but before tending to his wounds, he hands Dean a full glass of whiskey with a pill.

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"Thanks, Love," Dean attempts to wink at Cas, but with his eye swollen shut, it doesn't look as impressive as he'd hoped.

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"Dean, you look grotesque," Cas states plainly. He watches Dean swallow the pill, then down the glass in a few short gulps. "You know, you could've at least sugar coated it," Dean responds teasingly, handing the glass back to Cas for a refill. Dean leans back onto the couch, spreading his legs across the length, still holding an ice pack to his face. Cas sits on the edge, messing with medical supplies and alcohol set up on the coffee table. He fills Dean's glass and returns it to him, picking up the Q-Tip again.

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"This is gonna sting." He presses it to Dean's cheek without waiting for a response. Dean hisses through his teeth, wincing at the burn, taking another big gulp of his drink. Cas continues to clean Dean's cheek wound, occasionally scolding him for fidgeting too much or twisting his face in pain. Eventually, Cas' back starts to ache from constantly twisting back and forth between the coffee table and Dean, so he pulls the table towards the couch so the two are nearly touching. He then straddles Dean, pressing all of his weight down onto his lap.

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Dean sighs heavily, happily, looking up to Cas, "I like this much more." Dean smirks as he raises his back off the couch the slightest bit, just enough to put down his once-again empty glass, and the ice pack he was holding to his cheek.

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Although he's preoccupied with cleaning Dean's cut cheek, Cas still berates him, "you need to keep the ice on your bruise or else it's gonna swell and then-" Dean cuts him off, cooing lightly, "relax, baby, you worry too much." Dean runs his hands up Cas' covered thighs, biting his bottom lip, looking over him hungrily.

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Cas puts the used Q-Tip down on the coffee table, and turns to Dean, trying to be stern with him, "Dean, I'm serious, I don't want you to be worse off than you already are."

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Dean laughs disbelievingly, "I've had so much worse, Cas, you know that. The bitch who did this today easily could've killed me, I'm lucky this is the only damage she did."

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"Don't say that," Cas whispers, almost inaudibly. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he drops his gaze to his hands in his lap, "I don't know what I'd do if you didn't come home one day." Cas closes his eyes completely, thinking about that situation. How this life he'd built with Dean could be obliterated in seconds.

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Dean must see the pain on Cas' face, because he pushes himself up to a sitting position to bring his face closer to Castiel's.

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"Hey, look at me," Cas' dazzling blue eyes are watery when he meets Dean's eyes, "I will always come home to you. No matter what happens, I will come home."

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They look into each other's eyes for a moment, searching for the slightest hint of regret or dishonesty. Finding none, Cas pushes their foreheads together, both closing their eyes, basking in this little moment together. The two of them as one.

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Cas eventually reaches up and pulls Dean away from him by his hair, giving him a tiny smile.

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"Let me finish cleaning you up."

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Dean groans dramatically, and Cas rolls his eyes. Dean whines, "Caaaas, you've been cleaning my face for like an hour, I think you've done enough."

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Cas squints at him, considering what he's said. "You don't want a bandage for your cheek?"

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Dean laughs as if it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard, then leans in to softly peck Cas' lips. A small peck quickly turns into a deep, passionate kiss, and then Dean's hands are snaking around Cas' back, and Cas' hands are in Dean's hair. Dean pulls him closer, breathing in hard as he disconnects their lips to favor Cas' neck. He bites into the sensitive skin, then sucks on the mark he'd just made, eliciting a heavy sigh from Cas, as well as a bulge in his sweats.

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He pulls away, attempting to talk while Dean continues to peck at his lips, "Dean-" he's cut off by a kiss, "-Dean, I don't want to hurt you-" another kiss, "-your lip is cut, and your face is bruised-" Dean smiles wolfishly, and cuts him off with a growl, "Cassie, you should be worried about me hurting you."

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Cas blushes and grins at Dean's implications, and can't help but notice that Dean's already getting hard. He returns to Cas' neck, insistently licking at that same spot, making Cas bite his lip to suppress a whine. It takes all the power he has to make one last feeble attempt to deny Dean's advances. He puts his hands on his chest and pushes him away, "I'm serious." He gives him a hard stare, Dean gazing back at him with big pupils. His green eyes twinkled lustfully in the afternoon light filtering through a curtained window, and Cas can't help but soften his gaze at the puppy dog eyes. He sighs defeatedly, and Dean takes this as his surrender. His puppy face melts into a wolf-like, evil grin. His eyes widen in surprise when Dean juts his hips up, throwing Cas off of him, and simultaneously pushes him back so that Cas is the one who's laying down, upper body slightly propped up by throw pillows. Dean adjusts so he's kneeling between Cas' legs, towering over him, hands pressing lightly into his hip bones. He leans forward the slightest bit, pushing harder on Cas' hips, bringing the bulges in their pants together.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Cas closes his eyes, just feeling Dean, feeling his weight hovering over him, feeling protected and secured with his hands holding him in place. Dean looks down at Cas' eyelids as his hands ghost over his forearms absentmindedly. He loves Cas, he knows he does, and it's because of moments like these that he's able to admit that to himself. He loves that Cas feels the need to take a second to simply appreciate that Dean is with him, and how lucky they are to be together.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

And Cas loves him back.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Amazing how such a simple sentence can make your heart swell and mind go numb. They have all kinds of pills to make your body go numb, but there isn't a single one to make your thoughts turn to whispers.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

But, Cas supposes, when you're in love, you don't really need a pill.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Cas finally opens his eyes, and Dean takes one hand from his hip to steady himself when he leans down into Cas, bringing his lips right to his ear.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"What do you want, Cas?" he breathes hotly. Dean moves to pepper small kisses up his jawline before taking his earlobe between his teeth, then swirling his tongue in the same ear.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Anything at all, you name it, 'n it's yours," Dean muses into Cas' ear, feeling him shudder and grip Dean's hips. He tilts his head up when Dean moves down to his neck, giving him more access. Cas pulls Dean's hips down into his own, loving the weight of the heavy denim as he grinds into Cas.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Oh, fuck," Cas sighs, letting his eyes drift shut as Dean grinds down on him again, causing blood to shoot straight to his dick.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Dammit, Dean-" he drops his hips onto Cas again, eliciting an agonized moan "-please touch me, please, Dean-" Cas moves his hands to fumble with the button on Dean's jeans.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Dean stops sucking at Cas' neck to chuckle at his persistence, and to push himself to his knees. "If you insist, but remember that you asked for it. . ." he trails off teasingly. Cas' fingers are hooked into Dean's unbuttoned jeans, waiting eagerly to cast them off as Dean pulls his t-shirt over his head. Cas takes him in, trailing his eyes over Dean's exposed skin, moving his hands up to slide over his abdomen and sides.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Your turn," Dean demands as Cas pulls himself up to remove his own shirt, casting it aside to join Dean's on the ground. Cas wraps his arms around Dean's back and pulls them down, sealing their mouths together, both basking in the heat radiating off each other's exposed chests. Dean presses one hand into the couch cushion to hold himself up and pushes the other into Cas' hip to lock him in place.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Jesus, Cas," he mumbles, dropping to his elbow to press his lips against Cas' neck, biting at the sensitive skin. "You drive me crazy." Dean moves down Cas' neck, pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to his skin along the way. He licks along Cas' pronounced collarbones, feeling him tense up and shudder beneath him.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Dean lifts his head and moves down Cas' body, licking a wet line down the middle of his stomach. Cas grips Dean's hair with one hand, tugging at the strands, the other holding Dean's hand, their fingers laced tightly together. Dean pulls himself away from his body to grab the elastic waistband of Cas' sweats and work them down his thighs, Cas shimmying to help him pull them off and send them to the ground. Cas quickly starts working the buttons on Dean's jeans, proud of his confidence and steady fingers, and when he starts to pull them down, Dean finishes the work and adds them to the pile of discarded clothing.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He descends on him again, this time with only their boxers separating their bodies from full skin-to-skin contact, and it drives Cas mad. It kills him how Dean goes so painstakingly slow to tease him, to touch him and prod him and make his brain go fuzzy.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Dean," Cas whines as he presses a kiss to his inner thigh, "get on with it," he hisses, and Dean can feel the bulge in Cas' underwear as he wraps his arms around his thighs, nails biting into the skin above his knees. He laughs at Cas' impatience, and looks up at him from between his legs, smiling devilishly, "then I'll be sure to go-" Dean takes the band of Cas' boxers between his teeth, pulls it away from his skin, then releases it to snap back in place, "-agonizingly slow."

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Cas balls his hands in the pillows behind his head and bites his lip, closing his eyes, trying to deal with the pleasure of Dean's wet tongue sliding over his skin. Dean sticks his thumbs into Cas' underwear, moving over his sensitive skin, not quite reaching where Cas so desperately wants Dean's tongue to be.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Fuuuck," Cas sucks in a breath, "I can't take it, Dean, please-"

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Oh, you're gonna take it just fine, babe." Cas' eyes are still closed, but he can hear the excited smile in his voice. Cas feels Dean move back to his kneeling position, with one hand on one side of Cas' body. Then finally, finally, Dean sticks his hand in Cas' underwear, curling around his dick. He opens his eyes to meet Dean's green ones, a playful smirk on his face, his hand unmoving, and Cas can't take it anymore; the excruciatingly slow motions, the gentle touches, the soft kisses. He wants Dean to move, to stop this mellow foreplay shit and _fuck him already._

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Cas growls as he moves to take control, grabbing Dean's wrist and flipping them over so he's on top. He moves quickly, impatiently, lustfully, pulling off his boxers first, then Dean's, tossing both pairs to the discard pile. Dean's excitement shows in his expression; he likes to be in control, but loves when Cas gets impatient, and Cas knows it.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Cas leans down into Dean, grinding their cocks together, molding their bodies into one. He kisses Dean hard, tongue swiping around his mouth, Dean trying to keep up but always a second behind. He reaches his hand down to grab Dean's dick, and he suppresses a gasp at the feeling. Cas starts to squeeze and work Dean's dick, his nails biting into Cas' back, moving his thumb over the sensitive head, slicking through pre-cum.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Fuck, Cas," Dean moans into Cas' mouth. Cas stalls his movements and takes his hand off Dean's dick, relishing in his surprised whine.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Let's see how you like it. . ." Cas purrs to Dean, to which Dean can only make a strangled grunt in reply, his head so foggy with pleasure he can hardly remember to breathe. Cas wraps his arms around the tops of Dean's thighs, holding his hips down, and licks a line up his cock, from the head to the base. Dean tries to arch his back, to lift his hips, but Cas presses him down, holding him in place. He takes the head of Dean's cock in his mouth, laving his tongue over it, and Dean moans involuntarily, his breathing becoming ragged, heart hammering away at his ribs.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Shit, Cas," he moans, squeezing his eyes shut as Cas takes in more of Dean. He rakes his hands through Cas' hair, wrapping his hand around the nape of his neck, short fingernails digging into his skin. Dean's whole body is hot and sticky with the pleasure of Cas' lips around him, sucking at the sensitive head of his cock, working at the base with his hand.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Cas takes in as much of Dean as he can, eliciting a whimper from him. He can tell Dean's close, so he pulls away from his dick to slither up to his lips. He kisses Dean hard, bites his lower lip, then reaches down to grab both of their cocks in one hand. He strokes roughly, getting into a rhythm, Dean rutting his hips up to fuck himself into Cas' hand. He pulls and presses, grinding their cocks together methodically, feeling Dean unravel beneath him.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Sweat beads form on Cas' forehead, their mouths hang slightly open as they're unable to focus on anything other than their climax.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Cas-" Dean's voice breaks, and he sucks in a breath as he comes, pushing his head back into the pillows, mouth wide. After a few more short, hard strokes, Cas orgasms as well, dropping all of his weight onto Dean. They lay together, drawing ragged breaths, completely spent, both of their pelvis' covered in the sticky, white cum.

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"Holy fucking hell," Dean breathes into Cas' shoulder, his arms wrapped loosely around his ribs, hands resting on his shoulder blades. Cas hums an "mhmm" into Dean's ear, his cheek pressed against his shoulder.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

When they'd both gotten control of their breathing, Cas forces himself off of Dean, despite his pleas to lay just a bit longer.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Come on, we're both sticky and sweaty, let's just get cleaned up and then we can lay in bed," Cas complies, pushing himself onto his knees.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Dean wiggles an eyebrow and somehow manages a shit-eating grin. "Can we shower together?"

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Cas rolls his eyes and scoffs as he pulls his boxers and pants out from the pile of discarded clothes, then throws Dean's at his chest.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You just can't get enough of me, can you?" he questions lightly, and they both pull their bottoms on and stand together.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Dean smiles softly. "I could never." He gives Cas a quick peck on the lips and laces their fingers together, then leads the way towards the stairs.

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"So," Dean begins, feigning innocence, Cas trailing a step behind him, "is that a yes to the shower?"

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	4. The Beginning: Part Four

_you have never_

_had to steal my breath_

_or take it away,_

_somehow_

_you have always_

_managed to convince me_

_to hand it over_

_freely._

\- Tyler Knott Gregson

 

_**April 2008** _

 

Dean found him in the kitchen.

It was going to be a lovely morning, Dean knew, even though the sun had not yet risen. Cas always wakes earlier than Dean because he likes to watch the sunrise. It's not worth it, if you ask Dean. Yeah, you get to watch the sun do the thing its meant to do every day and its supposedly beautiful and unique every morning, but at what cost?

And there he was. Standing at the coffee maker, practically transfixed by the brewing. The smell of it seems to emanate from the walls, bleeding into the air and clouding his senses. Dean knew Cas must be deep in thought, and it makes him smile. Anything can make that boy recede into his mind, with only his thoughts for company.

A slow, melodic song flows out of the speakers beside the sink, one Dean's never heard. Cas is always listening to slow songs; songs about love, about heartbreak, about happiness and sadness. Dean doesn't know where he gets them from, but he loves them. Every single one, even the ones he hears only once. To him, they sound like songs you'd play at a wedding. The thought makes him sad; he knows they'd both thought about it, but neither has ever brought it up. But that's okay; there are some things they don't need to talk about.

He walks over and snakes his arms around Cas' waist, making him jump.

"What are you doing up?" Cas asks him lightly, laying his hands over Dean's. He can hear the smile in his voice.

"I could ask you the same question," Dean mumbles into Cas' shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed happily. Cas chuckles, and moves to pour the dark roast coffee into two mugs. He spins, handing one of them to Dean. He takes his hands off Cas' waist to accept it, and sips the hot liquid as Cas moves to the fridge and pours a good amount of creamer into his cup.

"You know I always wake up this early."

"I am aware of that, but I still can't understand why you prefer to wake up at the ass crack of dawn than to lay in the warm bed with me and sleep longer."

Cas smiles, a knowing smile, a smile that feigns mystery and makes Dean believe that the world is a better place than it really is. 

Dean leans back against the counter, crossing his arms, enjoying the music and the smell and Cas' presence. He looks so content, a small smile on his lips, his eyes fixed on the clouds painted in the sky; Cas watching the clouds while Dean watches him.

A new song starts up, and Cas' eyebrows lift when the man's soft voice melts through the speakers.

"Have you heard this one before?" Dean asks him. Cas closes his eyes, his head swaying back and forth with the rhythm.

"It's one of my favorites." He smiles softly.

The atmosphere in the kitchen was so mesmerizingly enrapturing. Dean looked at Cas swaying melodically, possibly unaware of his gaze, but more likely comfortable with Dean's eyes. Light had not yet broken over the horizon, but the rays were peeking over the clouds and reaching through the wide windows to lay their influence wordlessly upon any objects available to them.

Dean puts his mug down soundlessly, then moves to stand in front of Cas. He takes Cas' mug from his hand and sets it next to his own, turning to meet Cas' cerulean eyes. His pupils are huge, his smile soft, as Dean grabs his hands and pulls him backwards to the open floor of the kitchen.

Cas knows exactly what Dean's doing, and he flows with him readily as Dean wraps his arms around Cas' waist, pulling him close. They move together like puzzle pieces snapping into place or liquid pulsing through a tube. Cas presses into Dean, and Dean scoops his arm around Cas' back to support him. Cas drapes his arms around Dean's neck and leans his head on his shoulder. They rock back and forth, shifting their weight from one foot to the other, in time with the melody.

_Have I found you. . . flightless bird. . ._

They continue their mindless sway, both feeling the other's heartbeat, a low thump that seems to coincide with the song.

_Jealous. . . weeping. . . or lost you. . ._

Dean pulls him in closer, breathing him in, closing his eyes to feel this moment with Cas. Just him and Cas, together, against the world outside their door.

The way Cas' arms squeezed Dean's neck, you'd think they were the only one's left. As if he let go, Dean would fall away from him and disintegrate as quickly as he'd come.

The music picks up, and Dean pushes Cas away just a bit, moving to grab his hand and lace their fingers together. With Cas still pressed into Dean's chest, they continue to sway in a circle, moving quicker. When the chorus comes again, louder and more persistent now, Dean throws his arm up with Cas' and spins him, lifting him onto his toes, Cas' bright smile cast downward.

Dean pulls him back in, both laughing and swaying, and Dean says softly, "don't ever leave me, Cas."

"I could never," he hums back instantly, not even pausing to think about the words. Dean presses a kiss to his temple, his hand moving up his back to thread his fingers into his dark, messy hair.

"I love you," Dean breathes as an after thought.

Cas smiles, a smile that reaches into his lungs and rides his breath into Dean's ear, "I love you, as well." He kisses Dean's neck, their swaying slowing as the song continues. The man is no longer singing, but a concoction of instruments chimes out a rhythmic song, a solo for the players. They continue to dance in circles, listening and breathing.

When it finally ends, an entire lifetime later, Dean opens his eyes to see the sun peeking over the horizon.

"Cas," he says abruptly, and Cas unravels himself from Dean to look out the window. He stares in awe at the sunrise, his eyes gleaming. Cas was enamored by the sunrise, but Dean's attention was focused on something much greater. How could he wake up this early every morning and watch the sunrise, and still be so engrossed by its light? He's had to have seen a thousand sunrises, yet it still somehow captures him and leaves him awestruck to this day. Cas is sort of like Dean's sunrise. If the sun didn't rise, he wouldn't be here. Dean grabs both of their mugs and ushers Cas to the porch.

They sit in silence, admiring the colors, sipping their coffee. At some point, Dean reaches over and takes Cas' hand. Neither says a word. They don't want to shatter the silence. The oranges and yellows blend into the light blue sky, mixing in with the clouds, peeking through the thin ones and hiding behind the thick, cottony ones. It's so hard to describe a sunrise, even harder to recreate one. I suppose they're sort of the same thing. All you really need is to close your eyes and picture the color that comes when the person you love smiles at you. Or the color that surfaces when he looks at you with a raised eyebrow, because you know for damn sure that no one else has ever had the pleasure of that same expression. Or perhaps when he touches your bare hip, traces the outline of your jaw, even an accidental brush of the hands can arouse a color reminiscent of a sunrise. I suppose that's the best I can describe the sky on that morning.

Dean hasn't seen many sunrises, but even so, he knows that this one was different. Or maybe it was them. Maybe they were different, perhaps they'd changed overnight. Everyone says that people can't change overnight, but Dean thinks that's bullshit. He went to bed one night wondering who Castiel even was, and went to bed the next wondering when he'd tell him he loved him. People can change in a day. People can change in a moment. God knows he had. And if God knows he'd changed in a moment, then God knows who changed him. And if God knows who changed him, then surely he'll be in Hell in no time.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

When they could no longer look at the sun now blazing brilliantly over the horizon, the boys ventured back into the house to enjoy a nice, peaceful day together. No jobs, no commitments, nobody else, just the way they like it. 

"Have anything you want to do today?" 

The lingered in the dining room after exiting the back porch, unsure of what to do next. Of course neither of them had anything planned, they never do. It's like life throws things at them, and they just deal with the shit day by day. 

Dean looks at him thoughtfully and shrugs his shoulders. "I've got nothing." 

He reaches out and takes Cas' hand in his, pulling him into his chest for a hug. They stand beside the table, half in the kitchen, half in an imagined world. Dean daydreams about holding Cas like this in public, about pulling him into his chest without wondering if anyone's looking. 

"Let's get married," Cas murmurs, his chin resting on Dean's shoulder. 

Dean inhales sharply, caught off guard. They never talked about marriage, not even in passing. Not even as an afterthought, or a joke. It's just always seemed so improbable. People may be capable of change, but nobody will change their values or beliefs unless they want to. Which means they'll never have the same opportunities as all the "normal" couples. 

Regardless of what he thinks about marriage, he decides to humor Cas. 

"We can go to Vegas, take a day trip." 

He doesn't see it, but he can feel Cas' smile. "I'd like that." 

They stand as one, no words left to be said. Light breaks through the window and burns Dean's back. Eventually, their arms loosen and slip, and they move apart. 

"I have an idea for what we could do." 

The gleam in Dean's eyes clues Cas into what his idea may be.

"Oh yeah?" Cas quirks an eyebrow.

Dean's tongue darts over his bottom lip. "We should see how many times we can fuck in an hour." 

Cas scoffs and rolls his eyes, backing away from Dean and turning his back on him. 

"Babe, come on!" Dean chases after him, giggling shamelessly. "Was it something I said?" 

Cas turns back and kisses him hard, then backs away again, leaving Dean caught between the kitchen and living room. 

He smirks and moves towards Cas again, like a game of tag with only two players. Cas keeps backing away. Eventually, his calves meet the couch and Dean catches up to him. He's on him in a second, pushing Cas down and straddling him. Dean leans in to meet Cas' lips, putting his hands on both sides of his face.

They kiss with passion, with a fire that seems to burn their lips and tongues; the only way to prevent scarring is to melt into each other, until the fires become one. Until their lips and hearts and bodies become one. 

Cas digs his nails into the shirt covering Dean’s back, the shirt covering the huge expanse of skin that Cas had left invisible trails upon with his fingers. Dean holds Cas in place with his thighs, pressing down with his hips, feeling increasingly erratic as the bulge in his pants grows. 

Cas grabs the back of Dean’s neck and pulls his head down, pressing kisses to the skin there, before taking a nibble at a spot at the base of his throat, right above his collarbone. Dean’s head involuntarily falls back to give him more room, a sigh working it’s way out of his throat as Cas digs his nails into the base of Dean’s back, in rhythm with the pulsing of his mouth.

Suddenly, Cas stops and leans away from Dean's neck to look him in the eyes. Dean looks at him, trying to imagine what Cas might be thinking.

"What are you thinking about?" Dean asks. No point in wondering. 

Cas shakes his head, smiles. "I don't know, just, us, I guess." 

"Is it a good thought?" 

Cas' smile grows. "Yeah. Yeah, it is." 

Dean lifts himself off of Cas and sprawls across the couch. He beckons Cas to lay with him with an outstretched hand. Cas accepts the offer and lays beside him, wrapping Dean's arm around his shoulders. Dean rests his other hand on Cas' stomach, which he quickly grabs and laces their fingers together. They lay together in silence, Dean occasionally pressing a kiss to Cas' temple, to his cheek, his neck, anywhere he can reach. There's nothing sexual about it. He just feels the need to remind Cas of how much he loves him. He doesn't say it as often as he probably should, but most of the time, he doesn't think he needs to. He tells him how much he loves him by stealing kisses, by brewing the coffee lighter, by taking his hand and spinning him in a circle. There are so many ways to tell someone you love them, and Dean takes advantage of every single one. 

"Any idea what you want to do today?" Dean asks. The question vibrates in his chest, and Cas' eyes flutter closed, pressing his cheek closer into Dean's chest to hear his heart. It's beating rhythmically, and he matches up the beating of his heart with his own breath. 

"I don't know." They lay in silence for a moment. "I need to get some assignments done, and study for finals." 

Dean groans, a sound that reverberates through Cas' eardrum. "Cas, all you ever do is study. You have one month left, you've been at it for six years. There can't possibly be anything else you don't know about medicine." 

"Well, I still have two years left after finals, so there must be a few things I'm missing." 

Dean huffs and sits up. "Fine, do your damn studying." He stands from the couch and moves into the kitchen. Cas chuckles to himself, hearing Dean mumble to himself, "so fuckin' unfair. . . fuckin' school forcing him to fuckin' study. . . what about me?" Cas can't resist a laugh when Dean shakes his head at his own grumpy mumbling.

He stands from the couch, stretches his arms over his head. Dean's pouring himself another cup of coffee, his back to Cas. He starts up the stairs, heading for their bedroom to grab his book bag. He takes a peek out the window at the top of the stairs. The sun, now well on its way through its arc in the sky, casts rays through the freshly bloomed leaves on the trees. Their house is a good way into the forest, giving them a sense of isolation. When they feel the need to live in secrecy, the need to hide such a huge part of their life, a place of solitude is essential. A place where they're free to do as they please, to live the lives they want to live without the threat of anyone looking in. 

An idea pops into his head when looking out the window. He wonders if Dean would be willing to sit outside with him. He typically sits at the kitchen table to study or do homework, but he'd hate to spend such a beautiful day inside.

When he's had enough of the scene outside, he finally grabs his bag from their bedroom. While he's up there, he decides to change into something more comfortable, if they're going to be outside. He replaces his jeans with sweats, and takes off his collared long-sleeve. He's about to grab a t-shirt from his side of the closet, but ends up glancing at Dean's clothes. He reaches a hand out, touches one of his flannels. He runs his hand softly over the fabric, picturing Dean wearing it. He starts shuffling the hangers and pulls down a plain black t-shirt, one of Dean's. He buries his face in the cotton, taking in Dean's scent. He loves it, the smell of Dean. He loves how he doesn't wear cologne, but somehow still seems to have a distinct smell. He throws on the shirt and heads back downstairs. He meets Dean in the kitchen, who's staring absentmindedly out the window, similar to the way he'd done just moments ago. He can't help but wonder if they'd been looking at the same time, thinking the same things, without even knowing. 

He slings his bag over his shoulder and approaches Dean. He doesn't break his gaze out the window. He must be really deep in thought; he's always so cautious, even at home. He only looks away when Cas wraps his arms around him. 

"I thought you had to study." 

"I'm not allowed to hug you just because I have to study?" 

Dean chuckles, returning the hug. He keeps silent. 

"You're so warm," Cas mumbles against his neck, making Dean pull him in a bit tighter. "What were you thinking about?" 

"Hm?"

"Just a second ago. You were looking out the window. You seemed sort of, lost in your thoughts." 

Dean pulls his arms from around Cas and picks up his mug, brushing off the question. "Nothing, really." He shakes his head, smiling gently. "It's gonna be a nice day." 

Cas wants to ask him more. He knows Dean wasn't just absentmindedly staring out the window for the scenery; he was clearly deep in thought. But Cas lets it go. 

"Yeah, I was thinking we could sit outside. Grab a blanket, sit under a tree. I'll study for biology, you can just, admire my beauty." 

Dean smiles and takes a sip of his coffee. He returns it to its original spot on the counter and glances over Cas. He's wearing dark grey sweats, and a black t-shirt much too big for him. It's clearly one of his. Cas doesn't wear his things often, at least, Dean hardly ever sees Cas wearing them. Sometimes, he'll leave for a mission, Cas wearing one of his own outfits. But when he gets back, Cas will have on one of Dean's flannels, or a hoodie, a sweater, something of his. 

"Why do you like wearing my clothes?" 

"Does it bother you?" Cas looks down at the shirt, pinching the hem between his thumb and forefinger. 

"No, no, of course not, I don't care," Dean responds instantly. "I just wonder why, because they're too big on you, and you have plenty of clothes that fit you better."

Cas smiles sheepishly. "They smell like you." Dean chuckles, so he continues, "it's comforting. Like when you leave for work, when you aren't here with me, it's nice to feel like you are. You know. Here with me." 

Dean looks at him for a moment, heart swelling. Does Cas really miss him that much when he leaves? He thinks about saying something sarcastic back to him, but looking at Cas in one of his shirts, he couldn't possibly. Instead, he snakes an arm around Cas' waist and presses a kiss to his forehead. "I'll grab a blanket, meet you outside." He leaves Cas standing in the kitchen, gone in search of something for them to sit on. 

Cas heads outside through the back door. There are plenty of trees peppered around their yard, which lead into the outline of the forest. He chooses one near the middle of their yard, one with a big trunk, which leads up and splits off into hundreds of branches, each sprouting hundreds more of freshly-grown leaves. At the base of the tree is a nice shady spot, with freckles of light dancing down between the leaves, interrupting the shade. Cas drops his backpack and sits, leaning back against the base of the tree. He pulls out his biology textbook and flips to where he'd left off previously, page 626, chapter 15. He sighs, looking at a picture of a dividing cell. So it begins. 

Dean comes out just a moment later with a large, blue and green checkered blanket. "Sunshine." Cas looks up from the page. "Mind grabbing the other end?" He sets his book on top of his bag and stands, grabbing the opposite side. It's textured similarly to a flannel, which is pretty much exactly what it looks like. 

"Where did you find this?" He grabs a corner in each hand and backs up as Dean does the same, spreading the blanket out to its full size. 

"It was in that closet upstairs, the one I told you I just throw all my old shit into?"

"Ah, yes, that one." 

"Yeah," Dean smiles, then knits his eyebrows, recalling a memory. "I had to dig through that pile of shit for a while before I found it." 

Cas resumes his seated position against the base of the tree. Dean crawls towards him on the blanket, and lays between Cas' legs, resting his head on his thigh. Cas leans his textbook against the top of Dean's head and continues reading. Dean busies himself by looking up through the leaves of the tree, catching glimpses of the clouds every so often. Eventually, Dean reaches back, grappling for Cas' hand. 

"Dean, I can't turn the page with you holding my hand." 

"You're a smart boy, you'll think of something." He holds Cas' right hand in both of his, rubbing his thumb over the back. He stares up at the sky, lost in a daze. Every so often, Cas will take a peek over the top of the book to see if Dean's fallen asleep. Each time, he's happy to see that his glowing green eyes are still present. Dean bends Cas' fingers, tangles and untangles them with his own, pinches and presses and massages his hand. He doesn't even realize he's doing it. He's too busy entertaining his thoughts, dancing with his daydreams. Dean doesn't know how long they laid like that, but eventually, Cas closes his book and puts it to the side. 

"I give up." He leans his head back against the tree and looks up through the leaves. "Who needs college, anyways?" 

"I sure as hell didn't." Dean turns his head slightly so he can see Cas' face. He's looking upward, an edge of frustration etched into his features. Dean goes back to messing with Cas' hand. They lay a bit longer in silence. Then Dean, taking a glance up at Cas to ensure he's still preoccupied with gazing at the clouds, moves Cas' hand up slowly. He brings Cas' index finger close to his mouth and wraps his lips around it. When Cas doesn't respond to the gesture, Dean takes his middle finger and adds it to his mouth, sucking gently. 

Cas chuckles and runs his other hand through Dean's hair. "What are you doing?" 

Dean takes Cas' fingers out of his mouth, looks up at him and shrugs, feigning ignorance. "Nothing." He continues to suck Cas' fingers, looking up at him, a face full of innocence. 

"Are you trying to turn me on, Dean Winchester?" Cas laughs, a smile as bright as the sunspots peppered across the lawn. 

He shrugs again, takes Cas' fingers out of his mouth, letting them rest on his bottom lip. "Is it working?" 

Cas scoffs, and Dean licks the pads of them, holding his hand in an iron grip. "You are completely hopeless." 

"So it is working?" Dean smirks, eyes glinting, knowing exactly what he's doing to him. He takes Cas' fingers back into his mouth, cheeks caving inwards as he sucks them, down to his knuckles. Cas inhales, a sharp breath that he couldn't hold back, and grips Dean's hair in his hands, pulling at the base. He knows that if he thinks about Dean's tongue, about his lips around his dick, it'll be over, he'll cave like Dean's cheeks. He leans his head back against the trunk of the tree, trying to ignore him. Well, Dean doesn't like that one bit, so he takes Cas' fingers into his mouth, all the way down to where they connect at his palm, and Cas can't take it. He pulls on Dean's hair hard, and he takes the cue to sit up and press their lips together. He puts his hands on Cas' waist, sticking his fingers under the band of his sweats, never disconnecting their lips. Dean moves closer and straddles him, allowing Cas to suck a hickey into his neck. 

"What do you want, Cas?" 

Cas pulls away from Dean's neck to look him in the eyes. "I want you to put my dick in your mouth." 

Dean nods, somewhat indifferently, and says, "a bit forward, but if you insist." He gets off of Cas, and the second he does, Cas wraps his arms around Dean's middle and tackles him to his back. He presses kisses to his lips, then his cheek, moving down to his jaw, his neck, tugs down the hem of his collar and bites his collarbone. Dean flips Cas so he's the one lying on his back, and mirrors what he'd just done to him, pressing kisses to his lips and cheek and jaw and neck. He pushes his hands under Cas' shirt, feeling his abdomen, then moving down and pressing into his hipbones. He takes a moment to look at Cas, who gazes back at him with the same expression of awe and bewilderment. Cas then takes a hand out of Dean's hair and runs a finger over his bottom lip. Dean licks it, and Cas presses them into his open mouth. He closes his eyes and sucks them, just as he'd been doing not a moment ago. 

"I love you, Dean Winchester." 

Dean smiles, somewhat surprised. Cas hardly ever tells him he loves him first. It's normally always Dean who says it, which had never bothered him, because he's always enjoyed hearing Cas' response. It's always the same, and Dean loved hearing the words come from his lips. But this time, he'd been given the honor of saying the words he'd grown accustomed to hearing from Cas. 

"I love you, as well."

Dean unties the strings of Cas' waistband and pulls his sweats down his thighs. He then sticks his thumbs into the tops of Cas' boxers and pulls those down as well. Dean presses his hands into Cas' knees, holding him in place, and takes his dick into his mouth, as far as he can without gagging. Cas' head rolls back, his hands threaded through Dean's hair. Dean laves his tongue over the head of Cas' cock, pulling a moan from his throat. He wraps his hand around the base of his dick, mouth moving up to meet his knuckles, sucking all the way down. His head bobbed in time with his hand, jacking him off and sucking all at once, making Cas writhe.

He can feel the tension pulsing through Cas' dick as he sucks him. Dean pulls his mouth off to like a stripe along the underside, moving up to tease Cas' balls with his tongue. He moves back down and suckles on the head hard, tasting the salty pre-cum, relishing in the soft, involuntary moan that escapes Cas' lips. Dean hums in response, sending vibrations through Cas' cock. He knows it drives Cas mad, sends him over the edge, the humming, the vibration that runs through his cock and into the heat pooling in his stomach.

"Fuck, Dean," was all Cas could think to say. His head was so foggy with the feel of Dean's lips around his dick, his tongue cupping and licking, sucking and pulsing. "Dean-" he takes his whole dick into his mouth, holding for just a moment, before moving down to favor the head, humming once more. "Dean, I'm gonna come," he whines, and Dean takes him in again, sucking harder, and then Cas is spent, unloading into his mouth. Dean, the expert he is in the art of blowjobs, swallows it down, relishing in the sound of Cas' open-mouthed panting. Dean opens his eyes to look at Cas, who is positively glowing. His skin shiny and vibrant against the dark checkered blanket, hair rustling with the gentle breeze. He shimmies Cas' boxers and sweats back up his legs, Cas being of no help, worn from the aftermath of his orgasm. Once he has Cas' pants back in place, he lays down beside him. 

"Better?" he asks smugly. 

Cas nods, which Dean glimpses from the corner of his eye. "Much." His voice is pinched, still breathing heavy. 

They lay on their backs, side by side, admiring the clouds dashing by in the sky. Cas loves watching the sky because it changes every day. Dean just likes looking for clouds shaped like dicks. 

When Cas has regained his breathing, and they've been laying in silence for a few minutes, Cas decides to break it, "can we get a cat?" 

Dean chuckles, "what would you want a cat for?" 

Cas shrugs, moving his hands behind his head. "For when you're gone. It'd be nice to have something to look after. Some company when you aren't here." 

Dean mulls it over for a moment. He's never really liked animals, and they've never seemed to like him, either. Something about a tiny panther living in his house is unsettling. The idea of an actual wolf is terrifying. He'd never owned a dog or cat; he's never home to take care of one. But now that Cas is living with him, there's no reason why not. 

"Sure, why not." 

Cas sits up, leaning on his elbow. He looks at Dean quizzically, astounded at his response. "Really?" 

"Yeah, if you want a cat, let's get a cat." 

Cas' smile lights up his face. Hell, it lights up the backyard. "Let's go!" 

"What, now?" It's Dean's turn to be astounded. 

Cas rolls his eyes. "Yes, now. Unless you have something better to do today." 

"I was planning on going to the bedroom and having a little part two to what just went down, but I suppose it can wait." 

Cas gets to his feet and grabs his bag, practically bouncing with excitement. The smile never leaves his face, and he stands off to the side, waiting for Dean to collect the blanket from the ground. As soon as he has it in his arms, Cas turns and nearly skips across the lawn to the back door. "Come on, Dean!" He pauses at the door, staring at Dean meandering across the lawn. 

"I'm coming!" he bellows across the lawn, but Cas doesn't hear him, as he's already gone inside, not waiting for a response. "Jeez. . ." he mumbles to himself. Despite his indifference to getting an animal, he loves seeing Cas so excited. He's always so serious, preoccupied with school and worrying about Dean. When he finally gets inside, Cas is nowhere in sight. Probably already in the car, buckled up and waiting, like a child who's been promised a trip to Dairy Queen. He throws the blanket on the couch and grabs his wallet and keys, making his way out the front door and to his car. Sure enough, there he was in the front seat, exactly as Dean imagined he'd be. He laughs to himself, shaking his head. He knows him too well. 

He gets into the driver's seat and starts the engine. 

"Alright," he looks across at Cas, who's smile still has not left his face. "Let's get a fucking cat."

~~~~~

"Dean, look at this one!" Cas is bent down, a finger pressed against the glass, looking in awe at an orange tabby. It notices him looking, and rubs its chin against the glass, as if trying to feel Cas' warmth through the thin frame separating them.

"Yeah, he's cute." He examines the tag stuck to the glass. "Garfield. Very original." 

Cas stands, and they continue down the line, examining each cat. 

"Have you decided yet?" Dean looks through the glass at a big ball of fur. He couldn't tell where it's head begins and tail ends. 

"I haven't felt it yet." Cas says absentmindedly, once again poking his finger at the glass of a container. 

"Felt what yet?" 

Cas turns his attention to Dean. "The connection. The overwhelming sense of unyielding love." 

Dean rolls his eyes. "Come on, man. It's a cat. You aren't gonna feel a 'connection' or 'undying love' or whatever just from looking at them." 

Cas tilts his head quizzically. "I felt it the day I met you." Having stunned Dean into silence, he smirks and returns to gazing at the cats, his point made. 

Dean scoffs and looks to his feet. He's glad Cas wasn't looking at him anymore, because surely the blush had crept it's way up his neck and onto his cheeks. He felt the wings of a butterfly fluttering in his stomach as they walked. 

Dean stops in front of a tan colored one with orange stripes like a tiger. It was messing around with a little ball, rolling it across the bottom of the cage, and then pouncing across to stop it. He watched it for a minute, enjoying how carefree he seemed to be. He looks at the name tag, which reads "Tigger." He's eight months old, just a teenager. He personally would've chosen a name with a little more kick to it, considering the way he was attacking that little ball. 

"Cas, what about this-" he stops mid-sentence when he looks up to see that Cas was no longer beside him. Immediately, his heart starts pounding. His mind starts running wild with all the possibilities. Cas in the back seat of a white van, tied up and gagged, tears streaming down his cheeks. Cas' face cut and bloody, lying in a scarlet pool from a leaking wound, eyes glazed over. He checks down both sides of the aisle, but Cas is nowhere in sight. Dean starts walking, panic beginning to set. He comes to the end of the aisle and turns down the next one. 

Cas is crouched near the end of it, staring into the glass of one of the cages. He releases a breath, relief washing over him. He heads toward Cas, and before he can speak, Cas says, without looking up, "this one." 

Dean crouches beside him and looks at the cat behind the glass. She was small, likely only a few months old. She was sitting in the middle of the cage with closed eyes. Her fur was black, with spots of orange and white peeking through. Her eyes open slowly to reveal a stunning shade of green. 

"She has your eyes." 

Dean looks sideways at Cas. He returns his gaze, then murmurs, "and look at this." 

Cas looks back at the cat and blinks slowly. The cat mimics the blink, closing its eyes, and then opening them slowly. Dean smiles and looks at the name tag. 

"Her name's Jade." He glances at her again, and she tilts her head. "She's seven months old." 

Cas presses a finger to the glass, and she tilts her head the other way, eyes wide, curious. She stands and moves forward, then presses the top of her head against the glass. 

"I think it suits her," Cas says, a content smile on his lips. 

"Alright," Dean says with a groan, pushing himself to his feet. "I'll let 'em know we want her."

After signing some papers and paying the adoption fee, some workers put Jade in a crate and they carried her out to the car. It occurred to them that they have no supplies at home to take care of her, but the adoption shelter was prepared for that. They gave them two food bowls and let them take her favorite toy, a small stuffed lion. The second they settled in the car, Cas took Jade out of the crate and let her sit in his lap. 

All the negative things Dean had heard about cats, about how cold and unaffectionate they are, completely evaporated from watching Jade sitting with Cas. She curled up in his lap, not even slightly fazed by the bumpiness of the drive or the new surroundings. She laid obediently, looking up at Cas with eyes of curiosity and interest. Dean has to admit, he wasn't sure that getting a cat would be a smart idea. But Jade seemed so happy, so loving and content to be there, that he was positive this was the right thing to do. 

When they arrived home, Cas refused to put Jade back into her crate, and insisted on carrying her inside. "They aren't meant to be caged, Dean. How would you like it if someone put you in a box and you couldn't get out?" 

Dean wanted to tell him that she'd be in there for literally two seconds just to transport her into the house, but he decided it'd be best not to argue. Cas scooped Jade into his arms, his face the definition of sunshine as they walked inside. 

Cas set her down when the door closed behind him, and she looked around, taking in the new surroundings. Cas watched her intently but allowed her to walk around and check things out. After all, she'd likely been in a cage for the majority of her life up to this point. 

"Okay," Dean started, clapping his hands in front of him, "how about some lunch?" He looks over at Cas, whose eyes are still fixed on Jade's ambling around the front room. He tears his gaze away from her to snake his arm around Dean's waist. 

"Thank you, Dean," he says, leaning his head on Dean's shoulder. 

Dean turns to face Cas and wraps his arms around his neck, pulling him into his chest. "Of course, baby." 

"Are you sure this is okay?" Cas asks for about the fourth time since they left the shelter. Dean chuckles and pulls away to give him a hard look. 

"I just want you to be happy. Even if that cat despises me, if she makes you happy, then I'm happy," Dean assures.

Cas smiles at him, a thankful smile, and he leans in to give Dean a chaste kiss. 

"I vote we get something to eat, then we finish what we started earlier," Dean calls as he heads out of the room and into the kitchen. Cas picks up Jade, who willingly accepts his touch, and follows behind Dean. 

"You mean, finish what _you_ started earlier," he corrects. 

He hears Dean chuckle lightly before his response, "I may have started it, but you still have a lot to look forward to." Dean opens the pantry and peers around. Unsatisfied, he opens the fridge to check its contents.

"Is that so?" Cas answers. He takes a seat at the island and allows Jade to walk around on the countertop. 

Dean turns away from the fridge to look at Cas, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "I have some ideas." 

Cas returns the smirk, and his stomach does a somersault thinking about what "ideas" Dean might have in mind. He certainly has some ideas of his own.

"Then I suggest we eat quickly," Cas says, a hint of a smile in his voice. He reaches his hand out and Jade eagerly pushes the top of her head into his fingers. 

"Well, we gotta figure out what we wanna eat first before we can get it on," Dean remarks, digging through bags of frozen food. He closes the freezer door, a bit too forcefully, making the alcohol bottles on top of the fridge clink and rattle. He presses his palms into the edge of the island's countertop, leaning in to look at Cas seriously. "Or we could just get to it now and then eat after." 

Cas takes his focus off of Jade to look fully at Dean, who wiggles an eyebrow at him, a beautiful smirk on his lips. Cas learned his lesson about giving in to Dean's eyebrow wiggles and pretty smirks a long time ago. "I think we should eat now. I'm starving." 

Dean sighs and pushes away from the counter dramatically, turning back to the pantry. "You're no fun. What do you wanna eat then, huh? You decide, I'll make whatever you want." 

"How about spaghetti?" 

Dean nods his head in agreement. "Spaghetti it is." He grabs a box of noodles and a can of sauce, placing them beside the stove. He grabs his phone and plugs it into the stereo in the corner, selecting a classic rock station from Pandora. 

When Led Zeppelin starts wafting through the speakers, Cas stands from his seat at the island and picks up Dean's phone, scrolling through the stations. 

"What, you don't wanna listen to Zep?" Dean asks, holding a pasta spoon quizzically. 

"We always listen to rock," Cas responds simply. 

"Yeah, because rock is awesome." He pours the noodles into a pot of boiling water, sprinkling salt over top. 

Cas keeps silent, choosing a station titled "Wedding Songs." A soft piano melody begins, and Cas smiles happily, setting Dean's phone back on the counter. 

Dean just shakes his head, focused on setting the stove to the proper temperature for the pasta sauce. "You're such a sap." 

Cas steps behind Dean and snakes his arms around his waist, leaning his cheek on his shoulder. "That may be true, but you're just as much a romantic as I am." 

Dean chuckles and shakes his head again, laying his unoccupied hand over Cas', unable to deny the statement. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

Cas moves to stand beside Dean, keeping his arm firmly rooted around his side. Shoulder to shoulder, Cas begins to sway just the slightest, into Dean's side, then pulling both of them to the left. Dean picks up on his movements immediately, and molds himself against Cas, allowing him to lead him in their mindless sway.

They listen and sway, Dean stirring the pasta slowly. A couple of songs pass, and Dean pours the pasta sauce over the noodles.

He serves the pasta into two bowls and they take their respective seats across from each other at the dining table. Jade ambles over to them from the living room, seemingly satisfied with her new living conditions. She circles and sniffs each of their legs, eventually jumping onto one of the empty chairs and climbing onto the tabletop. 

"Jade, you can't be up here," Cas says, dropping his fork to push her away.

"Wha? Why not?" Dean asks around a mouth full of noodles. 

"Because we can't encourage her to beg for food. Not to mention that she walks around in her own feces." 

"Come on, Cas, look at her." Dean swoops her up and holds her to his chest. "Look at those eyes and try to tell her no." 

Cas frowns and looks pointedly across the table. But with Dean looking at him with wide eyes, and Jade's loud purring in his arms, he couldn't possibly find it in him to argue. 

With the soft chorus of music filling the first level of their house, Jade perched on one of the table's corners, and Dean sat happily stroking her back, Cas feels a wave of contentment flow through him. This is his family. This is his home. This is his life. He is the happiest he's ever been, and he can only hope that it will last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends :) If you guys have stuck with me this far, I can't even begin to express how much it means to me that there are actual people out there reading my story. This story that was once just in my head, it's unraveling in front of me when I write, and there are people actually reading it!!!! Like what??!! I don't typically like it when authors leave notes on their stories, but I wanted to leave just one to thank everyone who's taken the time to read what I've written. If you've stuck it out to here, please don't give up on me. I try to write a little bit every day, and I'll update as much as possible. The first four chapters are complete, I won't be going back and editing them unless I find mistakes or whatnot. Once again, thank you all for taking the time to read my writing. It truly means the world to me.


	5. The Middle: Part One

_even if you know_

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_what's coming,_

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_you're still_

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_never prepared_

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_for how it feels._

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\- Natalie Standiford

 

_**December 2008** _

 

Dean and Sam have a more complicated mission today than usual. Their target is of incredibly high standing among the crime community. From the information Bobby's given them, Lukas Fernando is not one to fuck with. Let alone assassinate. It's likely he'll have a massive amount of bodyguards accompanying him, so they'll have to be even more cautious than usual. In all honesty, they don't know what to expect. Apparently, Lukas ripped off a drug cartel leader, who is now paying a pretty price for Lukas' head on a stick. Dean doesn't ask questions, just does the job he's being paid to do, and does it well.

Sam and Dean have been in this industry for a long time. They've never failed a mission, and rarely do things get messy. They can typically do their job and get out of there without even being spotted by the bodyguards or whoever their mission decides to bring along on their rendezvous.

"Cas?" Dean calls as he descends the stairs of their house.

"Kitchen," Cas responds. Dean walks across the hardwood, and approaches Cas, who stands from his spot at the table. He reaches his hand out and Dean takes it, pulling Cas into a hug.

"I'm heading out," Dean mumbles over Cas' shoulder.

"Mhm."

They pull apart and Dean leans forward, Cas meeting him halfway, pressing a light kiss to his lips.

"Why do you always have to go?"

Dean sighs. "I know, baby. I wish I could stay here with you all the time, but duty calls."

"Sam told me your mission today is a tricky one."

"You talked to Sam?" Dean asks, feeling somewhat betrayed.

Cas shrugs his shoulders, brushing off the accusatory tone. "Why didn't you tell me it was gonna be a hard mission?"

Dean sighs again, exasperated. "Because I don't want you to worry. You don't have to worry."

"Dean, you know I always worry. Every time you walk out that door, I'm worried. Even if you're just going to the grocery store, or out to run errands, I worry."

"I fucking told Sam not to say shit like that to you, I told him," Dean says more to himself than to Cas. "You don't need to worry. We're always careful. I'm always careful."

"Dean, you could get hurt anywhere. Remember what happened at Target?"

"Of course I fucking remember what happened at Target, but that doesn't mean you-"

"Just stop." Cas runs his hands through his hair, something Dean has picked up on to mean he's exasperated. He keeps silent.

"You can't tell me not to worry. That doesn't mean shit to me." Cas' voice is stern. Dean knows he's being deadly serious. Cas never swears, only when he's scolding or agitated.

"I know, I know." He looks to the ground, then back up to meet Cas' eyes. "I'm sorry. I know how much you worry about me. That's why I told Sam not to say shit like that to you. That's why I don't tell you when a mission is going to be particularly dangerous or complicated. Because you already worry so much, I don't need you worrying any more than you already do." His voice is gentle, his words coming carefully.

"But I would prefer you tell me," Cas pleads.

"What good would it do? It wouldn't change the outcome of whatever shit might happen, it wouldn't make one fucking difference." Dean is getting irritated.

Cas scowls and looks at the ground, shaking his head. "You don't get it. You just don't fucking get it."

"What do I not get, Cas? What am I not understanding?" His voice is rising. He can't hide his agitation, and Cas looks back at him with the same intensity.

"I sit around here every day, doing absolutely anything to try not to think about what you're doing. I don't know what it's like for you, and you don't know what it's like for me. I try to read, or study, or write papers, but I can't focus on a goddamn thing until you come back home. If I try to force myself not to worry about you, I just worry even more! And you think that not telling me about how dangerous your missions are is gonna make me worry less, and it infuriates me! That's why I talk to Sam; because he's honest with me."

"What, you- you think I don't worry about you, too?"

"Oh please," Cas laughs half-heartedly. "Cut the shit, Dean." His voice is like steel. "Don't even pretend to think that you need to worry about me in the way I worry about you. Don't insult me like that. You do not get to tell me not to worry because I'm not the one tap dancing with criminals!"

Dean wants to be mad, he wants to defend himself. He wants to get angry and yell at Cas for thinking he doesn't worry about him. But he knows Cas is right. He doesn't need to worry about Cas as he worries about him. He presses his lips together and gives in.

"I know." He looks to the ground, feeling embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Cas. You're right. I'm sorry."

They both stand in silence, not meeting each other's eyes.

"I'm sorry, come here." Dean takes a step forward and envelopes Cas in a hug. "I'm sorry," he mumbles into Cas' ear.

"It's okay."

They stay like that, just feeling one another's hearts beating.

"I love you."

"I love you, as well."

Dean pulls away from him and gives him a halfhearted smile.

"It'll be okay. I'll be okay." He presses a kiss to Cas' forehead.

"Just. . . be careful, Dean." As much as Dean constantly reassures him, Cas can't shake the feeling in his stomach. Like caterpillars resting in cocoons, waiting to erupt into butterflies; decaying before they have the chance, then dropping off and settling in piles instead. 

"I always am." Dean tosses him one last smile, before turning on his heel and ducking out of sight. 

He doesn't hear Cas' whispered goodbye.

~~~~~

"Why did you tell Cas this mission is gonna be more dangerous than usual?"

Sam sucks in a breath and shrugs. "Because he asked."

Dean just shakes his head, and stays silent.

"He worries about you so much, and you never tell him anything. That's why he asks me."

"It isn't your place to tell him shit like that."

"Dean, if you don't start opening up to him, you're gonna lose him."

Dean winces, actually winces, at his words. "Don't say that."

"You know it's true Dean, you can't just bottle it up and then explode when he confronts you."

"I don't do that."

"Yes you do, you're my brother, I know you better than anyone, better than he does. You used to pull that shit with me constantly."

Dean glances at him in the passenger's seat, but his head is turned, staring out the window. As usual, he's right. They're always right. He would never admit it to either of them, but he knows they're right.

The rest of the drive passes quietly. They're on the way to another abandoned warehouse. Why these criminals always choose to do their dirty work in abandoned warehouses, he has no clue. I guess shady warehouses are just all the hype in the crime community.

They pull into the lot and drive around the back of the two buildings before them. They park the Impala in what they hope is an area it won't be seen, then open up the trunk and gather their bags full of equipment.

"I think our best bet would be to hang out on the roof of that one," Dean gestures to the building closer to the entrance. 

Sam looks up and squints. "Yeah, I agree." They start walking around the side of the building until they find a back door to enter through. It's locked, as most abandoned warehouses tend to be, so Dean kicks it in. It swings open, and they cross the threshold, then close it behind them. 

Dean pulls his handgun and holds it at his side. They can never be too careful. Especially when he has someone expecting him to come home. 

They walk through the bottom floor of the building, which is almost completely empty. They find the stairwell quickly and begin their ascent. They climb four flights of stairs, and by the time they reach the top, both are working hard to catch their breath. They once again kick in the door leading out to the roof. 

The air is even colder up here, somehow. The wind is worse, and there's nothing for them to take shelter behind. 

Dean simply pulls his jacket tighter around him and pushes his bag further on his shoulder. Together, they amble to the roof's edge and look over the parapet. Luckily, neither of them are afraid of heights. In this career, you can't afford to be afraid of much. The adjacent building is just a bit to their left, and the driveway to the lot leads directly below where they stand. It's a perfect area to set up at. If everything goes the way they'd like, Fernando and his band of goons will drive right into the wide open lot, giving them a perfect shot. Dean decides it's best to not consider what might happen if things don't go according to plan. He tries his best not to. 

Dean drops his bag, and Sam follows his lead. Dean crouches beside his duffle to start removing equipment, while Sam takes a seat on the parapet and leans down to dig through his own bag. 

"Want me to do the honors?" Dean asks casually, as he pulls a heavily equipped rifle from his bag. He looks up at Sam, who's holding tightly to his own gun, adjusting the scope. 

"I figured it'd be best for both of us to be ready. You can take the shot at Fernando, considering you've got better aim than me. And you've had more experience. But we don't know how many people he'll have with him. If things get messy, I think we should probably both be prepared to take down anyone necessary." 

Dean frowns slightly and nods, accepting Sam's plan. He typically is the one taking the money shot. He'd rather he have the blood on his hands, save Sammy from racking up too big a body count. "Yeah, that's probably best." 

They sit in silence for a moment, examining and loading their rifles. Dean's mind starts to wander. He imagines Cas sitting at home with Jade, worrying about him. The way he bites his lip when he's nervous and streaks a hand through his hair. He's always messing with his hair. Dean scolds him about it, even though he likes the way it always has the after-sex look. His sex hair is just so. . . _sexy._ Sam breaks the silence, his question cutting through the icy wind, "so, is everything okay between you and Cas?"

Dean scoffs and continues preparing his rifle. 

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"Dean, I don't mean to pry. You just never tell me anything about him. You guys have been together for over two years." 

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"Yeah, and?" Dean turns his head to look up at Sam. 

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"And, I just wish you'd tell me about him every now and then. Let me know how things are." 

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Dean sighs, bites his lip, and returns his attention to his gun. 

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Sam rolls his eyes. "Look, I'm sorry if you're upset that I told Cas about this mission, or whatever it is that's keeping you from talking to me."

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"What do you want me to say, Sam, you want me to rave about how much I love him, is that it?" 

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Sam shrugs. "If that's how you feel, then yeah." 

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Dean clicks the last pieces of his sniper into place and leans it against the parapet. He stays crouched on the ground, contemplating Sam's words. Finally, he turns his attention to Sam sitting on the half wall, looking expectant. 

__

"I love him, Sam. I do." Sam nods, urging him to continue. "I love him so goddamn much, it scares me. And-" the word pinches in his throat. He bites his lip and focuses hard on the rifle leaning against the wall. "I don't remember what it was like before him. It's like, everything, it's- it's all happening at once. It's like, I don't fucking know, everything that happened before him was just the prologue to my _real_ story. My story with Cas." He sets his jaw, still focusing on the rifle. He can feel Sam's eyes on the side of his face, analyzing him. He forces himself to continue, "it's like the day we met was Chapter One. And now this is the stuff with the details. This is the good part, the part worth reading. Everything before him was just a bunch of bullshit."

He finds himself wishing, once again, that he had Cas' vocabulary. He's finally telling Sam about how much he loves Cas, but the words are getting jumbled. He's so bad at speaking, about voicing his feelings. He wishes they would flow from his lips like a waterfall, like the way Cas' always had. 

"I don't know, man, what do you want me to say?" He shakes his head, starts to paste another brick on top of the wall he'd momentarily breached. 

Sam's eyes go wide, and he speaks quickly, "don't stop there! Keep going." 

Dean sighs and rolls his eyes at his brother's enthusiasm, even though his stomach does a somersault when his thoughts return to Cas. "I want to be with him for the rest of my life, Sam." 

He pauses for a moment to gauge Sam's reaction. He hopes he'll speak up so he doesn't have to say the words. He can see the excitement buzzing behind his features, but Sam's silence forces him to continue. "I want to marry him. I want to do it all, the whole thing. I want to marry him," he repeats, and the corner's of Sam's mouth lift just slightly, "and I want a family. I want kids, and I want to raise them right, better than we were, better than he was. I think I'm finally ready." He waits for just a second, and cuts Sam off as he opens his mouth, "but that doesn't fucking matter because we can't get married here, anyway. So I'm stuck running in circles. I want to marry him but I can't. I'm finally ready for a family, but I can't have one." 

Sam takes the pause to start, "Dean, you could just take a day, go to California-" 

"No, Sam," Dean cuts him off harshly. "We can't just go and get married and then come back here and pretend like everything's normal, people don't fucking change and even if they do, it ain't gonna be any time soon. So I'm not gonna get my hopes up."

Sam sighs, looking defeated. He knows Dean's right, and there's no point in arguing something that he knows is an uphill battle. All they can do is wait. It seems like the majority of their lives have been spent waiting. Waiting for their dad to come home. Waiting for targets to show up. Waiting for people to fucking change. Life is just one waitlist after another. 

Dean leans his back against the parapet, allowing his mind to wander while Sam keeps a lookout through a pair of binoculars. After a few minutes of silence, Sam announces, "here they come," then crouches behind the parapet. 

"How many?" 

"Four cars, all black with tinted windows." 

"Why do these criminals always gotta make things complicated?" Dean huffs. 

They stay hidden behind the parapet, listening intently, to no avail. They hoped they'd be able to hear the cars pull up and doors slamming, but the wind is howling an icy melody, drowning out any sounds below. 

Cautiously, Sam takes a peek over the wall, then immediately crouches back down. 

"They're out of the cars, probably a dozen guards. He whispers, even though there's no chance of the men hearing them through the wind. Dean peeks over the parapet to glimpse a dozen men unloading out of the cars. He searches for his target and finds him at the front of the line of men, equipped with dark sunglasses and a look of decisive arrogance.

Official Name: Lukas Fernando

Code Name: Ghost Rain

He lifts the rifle from the parapet, bringing the scope to his eye, balancing its weight on the parapet. Fernando shakes hands with another man, his lips moving in conversation. Dean has a clear shot, so he focuses the crosshairs on Fernando's temple, watching his expressions carefully. 

"Take the shot," Sam hisses from beside him. 

Dean takes a slow breath in, time careening to a halt around him. He can feel his heart pounding against his sternum, the adrenaline beginning to settle in. Dean squeezes the trigger. Fernando's small smile vanishes the instant the bullet lodges itself in the side of his brain. He doesn't bother watching his body crumple to the ground and immediately starts aiming for the next man, firing off shots aimed to kill. Sam watches the bodyguards scramble, shout, and point, several of them crashing lifelessly to the ground as Dean continues picking them off, one by one. 

"We gotta get out of here, they're coming around the back." 

"We're not gonna be able to leave, you take care of the ones who try to get up, I'll stay here." With that, Sam pulls out his pistol and hurries off to the stairwell. Dean fires off a few shots at the men running around to the back of the building, hitting just one of the three, the other two scurrying out of his sight. He sweeps the ground, looking for any other signs of movement. He wants to go and help Sam, but his instincts tell him to stay put. 

Dean stays quiet, nearly motionless except for the careful sweep of his rifle across the ground. 

A minute passes, and he hears two distinct gunshots from somewhere below him. Dean knows the sound of Sam's gun, and those shots came from him, he's sure of it. He continues to scout the area through the scope on his rifle, but it seems that they've taken care of everyone. Feeling victorious at having successfully completed their mission, he starts to disassemble his rifle, stuffing the pieces back into his bag. He stands and slings it over his shoulder, turning toward the exit just as Sam opens the door to the stairwell, walking out onto the roof. 

"All clear?" Dean shouts across the distance.

"All clear!" Sam affirms. 

Yet, Dean feels uneasy. He isn't sure why. He looks to the bodies piled on the ground below. He reassures himself that they've completed their mission without complications. He turns back to Sam, and his heart drops into his stomach.

Even across the rooftop, the red dot on the side of Sam's forehead is clearly visible. Sam can't see it, doesn't notice it.

__

Dean's heart stops beating. His eyes widen. Sam takes a step forward, the dot never leaving his head. He notices Dean's panic, and his face contorts in confusion. 

__

"Dean?" he bellows across the rooftop, making his voice audible above the icy bite of the wind. 

__

Dean is frozen in place. Brain whirring to life, he whips his head around, seeking the source of the dot. He looks across at the building beside them, and spots a form in black, knelt at the edge of the roof, aiming down the sight. 

__

His heart is pounding in his chest, blood pumping frantically through his body. He turns back to Sam, who has also spotted the sniper on the roof parallel. Panic etched into his features, he lets out a frantic "Dean!" 

__

He decides in a split second that he wouldn't have the time to pull a gun on them, let alone aim and shoot. Dean wills his feet to move. He takes off sprinting across the rooftop, right at Sam. 

__

Sam takes another shaky step forward, the red dot moving with him. 

__

" _Sam!_ " he chokes out, chest heaving, legs moving as quickly as his body allows. He's not 20 feet from him. Just seconds. Just seconds away. 

__

He's so close. So close. He sees the tears well in Sam's eyes. "Dean I-"

__

His sentence is lost beneath the shot vibrating through the air. He leaps forward, diving at Sam, and they collapse much too easily. He can feel the stiffness gone from Sam's body before he even looks at him. He knew when he wrapped his arms around Sam's middle and his body more closely resembled a sack of pudding than two hundred pounds of solid muscle. 

__

Dean pulls himself off of Sam to look at his face. His mouth dries, bile rising in his throat. The dead center of Sam's forehead is ripped open with a hole big enough to stick a marker in. Blood is already seeping into a puddle behind his head; the bullet went straight through. He was dead before he hit the ground. His eyes are empty and glassy, the tears that had welled freezing over in the cold. 

__

"No. . ." Dean breathes. He grips Sam's shoulders and shakes him. He knows it won't do any good. 

__

"Sammy!" he screams, looking into his eyes, waiting for them to blink. His own vision is blurring, and he swipes at his eyes, closes them, rubs his eyelids until fireworks appear. "This can't be happening." He opens them again, but Sam's gaze is still unfixed, still empty.

__

He looks up, across the roof at the other building, and his eyes meet his brother's murderer. They're standing, simply staring. Then, they take off the mask and pull down their hood. 

__

"Goodbye, Dean," Toni yells across to him. 

__

He wants to scream at her. He wants to chase her down, to pull his gun and unload a clip into her skull. But he's frozen, stunned into silence. 

__

She turns her back on him and trots across the roof, vanishing into the door leading to the stairwell, leaving him alone to deal with the aftermath. 

__

Dean turns back to his brother. For the first time in a long time, he has no idea what to do. He grabs the back of Sam's neck, cradling his head. His skin is still warm. He knows it won't be for long. 

__

"Sammy?" he tries again, voice breaking, refusing to believe what his eyes are forcing on him. 

__

"I'm sorry, Sammy," the tears spill over, and he chokes out a sob. "What am I supposed to do?" 

__

His breath is coming quicker, and he can feel the panic settling. He tries to calm himself, but his chest is heaving, and his stomach is turning. His mouth fills with saliva and he drops Sam's head, buckles over and throws up. 

__

"Oh god, oh god," his lungs are filled with cement, and the icy air isn't seeming to fill them. He sucks in breaths, faster, but it makes no difference. His insides are on fire, and his mind is running away from him, too fast for him to catch up. He has a million thoughts but none on what to do next. 

__

He resorts to looking up to the sky, the bland, grey clouds hanging above him. 

__

"What am I supposed to do?" he screams at nothing. "You've taken everything from me!" He's gasping for air, trying to fill his burning lungs. "He doesn't deserve this!" He puts a hand to his forehead, squeezes his eyes shut. "What more are you gonna take from me?" He hunches over his knees, trying to steady his breathing. He grips Sam's jacket in his hands, teeth clenched. He looks up to the clouds one last time. "What- more- do you want?"

__

Dean can't hold himself up any longer, and he collapses into his knees. He remains crouched over until he can breathe relatively steady again. When he pushes himself up, he expects Sam's body to be gone. Or at least for him to be sitting next to him, assuring him that he's fine and that they need to get out of there. But he's still lying there, motionless, unresponsive. 

__

Dean stares at him for a few long seconds. He moves his hand up to Sam's face, closes his eyelids. He bends over him, and presses a kiss to his forehead, right beside the hole in the center. 

__

"Goodnight, Sammy." 

__

His mouth quivers, but he sucks in a breath. Every cell in his body is screaming at him, but he pushes it down, puts them on mute. 

__

"It's okay, Sammy, I got you," he says, barely above a whisper, as he reaches his arms beneath Sam's knees and behind his shoulders. He gathers Sam to him, and he tries to stand, to carry him, but he can barely get him a foot off the ground. He collapses, dropping Sam's weight back to his original spot. His breathing is acting up again, coming in shallow bursts, and he clenches his teeth and heaves Sam upward again, using everything he has left to try to lift him. 

__

He drops back to the ground again, completely spent, now getting agitated. He knows he won't be able to move Sam by himself, and it kills him. He just wants to wake up from this nightmare. Dean lays his forehead against Sam's chest. 

__

"I- I'm sorry, Sam," he chokes. "I'm s- I'm so sorry."

__

Dean lifts himself up again, and takes his phone from his pocket, pressing in numbers he'd commanded to memory. 

__

"Dean?" 

__

"Cas?" he says weakly. 

__

"Dean, what's wrong?" 

__

"How fast can you get here?" he asks, eyes shut, blocking out the scene in front of him. 

__

"I'm leaving now, what happened? Are you okay?" the panic in his voice is evident. 

__

Dean keeps silent, holding his head in his hand. 

__

"Dean, are you okay?" he punctuates his words, speaking urgently now. 

__

He shakes his head slowly, inhales sharply. "No," he barely whispers. He's hoping Cas can't hear how broken he feels. 

__

"Are you hurt? Tell me wha-" 

__

"We're on the roof, please, Cas, get here as fast as possible." He hangs up on him, unable to carry on their conversation. He can't answer Cas' questions right now. He knows Cas is probably combusting from worry, but he just can't. He'll know when he gets here. 

__

He moves from his knelt position to sit on the frozen cement, one knee pulled tight to him, the other bent flat against the ground. He rests his chin on his knee, looking at Sam. 

__

_How has it come to this?_

__

He knew their job was dangerous. He'd always known that. He always imagined that something terrible might happen to him, but to Sam? He'd sworn time and time again to protect Sam, no matter the cost. He's failed his father. He's failed Sam. He's failed himself. The one thing, the one job he was given, he couldn't accomplish. Sam isn't supposed to go like this, he's supposed to live a long life. Whether or not Dean would receive the same fate never mattered to him. If he's being honest, he's surprised he's made it this far. With always throwing himself in harm's way, taking bullets for Sam since day one, doing everything in his power to keep him safe. 

__

_How has it come to this?_

__

He doesn't notice the time passing. If the wind wasn't howling and clouds weren't passing above, he'd have thought time stopped. It surely felt that way for him. 

__

He hardly notices Cas emerging from the stairwell. He finds them instantly, and his heart sinks. Dean was motionless, placid beside Sam's body. He strides across the rooftop cautiously, waiting for Dean to notice him. When he's merely ten feet away, and Dean still had not given any sign that he sees Cas, he calls out to him, "Dean?" 

__

Dean looks up. His eyebrows are knitted, ears and cheeks bright red from the stinging cold. Cas' face contorts, his emotions getting the best of him. Dean just looked so _numb._ His typically shining green eyes were dull, his mouth a straight line. 

__

"Dean," he says again. He tries to be as gentle as possible, the word coming out in a hush. Cas crouches beside him, settling onto his knees. He looks across at Dean, who's gaze has returned to Sam's passive face. 

__

"I couldn't move him on my own," Dean says, hoarse but clear. A tear slips from Cas' eye and he presses his lips together, allowing it to trail down his cheek. He was afraid to move, afraid Dean might shatter at any second. He was afraid to touch him, though all he wanted was to wrap him in a hug and prevent him from disintegrating. He wondered if Dean even felt like he might disintegrate. If he felt like he already had. 

__

Cas stole a glance at him and nodded his head. "I'm here." 

__

At his words, Dean's eyebrows stooped further, and the straight line of his mouth turned into a frown. His lip quivered. Cas could tell he was trying to focus very hard on breathing. 

__

_It's my fault._

__

His nostrils flared, and he turned his face away from Cas as the air in his lungs withered. He started breathing in hard now, quicker, trying to replace the air that had escaped him. He looked to his lap, chest heaving, trying to calm himself. He can't do this now. Not in front of Cas. He needs to keep it together. 

__

"Dean, I'm here," Cas repeated, more forcefully this time. He wishes he knew what to do. He'd never seen Dean like this: chest heaving, face contorted, clearly trying to hold back a panic attack. 

__

Dean lifts his head for the briefest moment, as if to say something, but decides against it, decides that his words wouldn't come out with his lungs screaming in his chest. 

__

Cas reaches a hand out and touches Dean's knee. 

__

"Don't!" Dean barks, flinching away from him. Cas draws his hand back, tears brimming in his eyes. He feels caught between reaching out to him again or giving him space. He wishes he knew which one would help.

__

"Dean, please. . ." Cas begs him. 

__

Dean sucks in a breath and holds it, then meets Cas' eyes. He clenches his jaw, and he can feel himself teetering on the edge of collapse. He can feel himself standing on the cliff's peak, waiting for a breeze to come, to send him tumbling down in one massive catastrophe. 

__

He opens his mouth as if to say something, but no sound comes out. Cas takes the chance to finally wrap his arms around Dean, pulling his head into his chest, and Dean takes the plunge. The sobs roll through him in deep, body-wracking waves. His chest heaves and heaves, relishing the first real breaths he's taken in the last hour.

__

"It's okay, it's okay, Dean," Cas soothes. 

__

"I let him die, Cas," Dean chokes through pinched lungs. 

__

"It's not your fault." Cas moves a hand from Dean's back to thread his fingers through his hair. Dean lets out another sob, clenching his teeth, trying to suppress the sorrow mounting in his chest. "It's okay." 

__

Cas runs his hand up and down Dean's back, trying to calm him down. He tells Dean to breathe, promises that it'll be okay over and over. He lets Dean unravel in his arms, waiting for the sobs to stop. Eventually, Dean gets a hold on his breathing and pries himself from Cas' arms. He glances over at Sam, somehow surprised to see that he hasn't moved. 

__

"We gotta move him." Dean clears his throat and wipes the tears from his cheeks with one hand.

__

Cas knows they can't leave him there. But he doesn't want Dean to have to carry his brother's body to his car. He shouldn't have had to watch him die in the first place. 

__

"I'll call Bobby and have him move Sam." 

__

"No," Dean protests immediately, "we should take him down to my car, I can't leave him here." 

__

"Dean, we can't move him. We won't be able to carry him all the way down by ourselves." Dean remains silent, so he continues, "let me call Bobby. He can have some people come and get him."

__

Dean considers it for a moment. He knows he and Cas should be able to carry him down, but he's exhausted. And the thought of carrying Sam down all those flights of stairs makes him ache. He'd never imagined he'd be in this situation.

__

"Okay," he says quietly. 

__

"Okay," Cas agrees, thankful that Dean isn't arguing. "I'll call Bobby, and we can go wait in the car for him to get here." 

__

"No," Dean protests once again. "I'm not leaving him." 

__

"Dean, you're gonna freeze to death if we wait up here." The pink in his cheeks has turned to a deep red. Whether it's from crying or the cold, Cas isn't sure, but he doesn't want to take any chances. 

__

Dean shakes his head. "I'm not gonna leave him." 

__

"You have to take care of yourself, we can't-" 

__

"I'm not leaving him," Dean repeats, cutting him off. Cas sighs, disappointed. He knows Dean isn't gonna budge. 

__

"Okay. We'll wait. I'll call Bobby." He stands from his seated position beside Dean and walks a few strides away from him.

__

He finds Bobby's contact and waits while it rings. 

__

"Bobby Singer." 

__

"Bobby, it's Cas," he says gently. 

__

The line is silent for a moment. "Cas, like, Dean's Cas?" 

__

"Yeah." He glances at Dean, who's back is to him. He doesn't want him to hear their conversation. 

__

He hears Bobby sigh through the phone. "Well, if you're calling me, something's wrong." 

__

Cas takes a swipe at his eyes and clears his throat. 

__

"Sam's dead," he says, barely a whisper. 

__

Silence. He wonders if he heard him. He hears a shuffle and then a thud, imagining he'd just collapsed into a chair. 

__

"Goddamn," he mutters. Cas can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. "What do you need?" 

__

"We're on the roof of some old warehouse." He glances around, then lowers his voice, "Dean and I can't move his body by ourselves. I was hoping you could have some people come and move him."

__

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll, uhm," he takes a breath, "just send me the location and I'll send some boys over." 

__

"Thank you, Bobby." 

__

He's about to hang up when Bobby asks, "is Dean okay?" 

__

Cas sighs and steals another glance at Dean. He considers the question. For watching his brother die, he's doing pretty well. But then again, Dean's always been one for concealing his emotions. He thinks about the breakdown he had in his arms. How long had it been before Dean called him? How long did he kneel beside his fallen brother? How long did he stare at Sam, waiting to wake up from the dream? He wishes he had answers, and he can only hope Dean will tell him eventually. 

__

He shakes his head, presses his lips together. 

__

"No."

__

"Take care of him." 

And with that, the call ends. Cas punches in their location and sends it to Bobby, then turns around to return to Dean's side. Except, Dean isn't crouched beside Sam anymore. He's standing at the edge of the building. Standing on the parapet, looking out. 

Cas' face goes white with panic. "Dean!" he screams across the rooftop. Dean doesn't react. He takes off sprinting, all thoughts of Sam completely forgotten, even as he strides just feet away from his motionless body. When he's right at Dean's back, he forces himself to stop, worried that any sudden movements might send Dean plummeting. 

"Dean," Cas speaks forcefully, on the verge of hysteria, "don't do this." 

Dean makes no indication that he's hearing Cas. 

_It would be so easy. Just one little step._

Cas searches his clouded mind for the words that'll make Dean step backward instead of forward. 

"Don't do this to me," Cas pleads, breathing sporadically. "Please just come back, come down." 

Dean's lip quivers, he inhales deeply. This is the clearest his mind has been for the last hour. Just a step. A step away from seeing Sam smile. 

"I need you, Dean," Cas' voice is rising, wracking his heart for the words his brain has failed to produce. He's crying hard now, terrified of losing him. "Please don't do this to me." 

Dean forces himself to think of Cas standing behind him. He forces himself to imagine Cas' messy black hair, his smile that lingers on his lips.

In the end, it's the thought of leaving Cas alone that makes him turn around. Cas surges forward immediately and grabs onto Dean's waist, pulling him toward him with all his strength. Dean steps down from the parapet clumsily, trusting Cas to hold him up. Cas envelopes him in the tightest hug he's ever received. 

"Don't _ever_ do that to me," he says into Dean's shoulder. 

When he releases Dean, the expression on his face is far from what he was expecting. The numbness he'd only showed previously is gone, replaced by something far more intense. Something dark. Something he's never seen on Dean's face. 

"What's the point, huh?" Dean's voice is sharp and cold. "What's the _fucking_ point, Cas?" he shouts. Cas flinches away from him. Dean never yells like this. 

"Dean-" 

Dean turns away from Cas and starts pacing. He's shouting at the top of his lungs, louder than Cas has ever heard anyone yell. "What does it fucking matter if I step off a building, it isn't gonna bring him back! What the _fuck?_ Fuck this! Fuck this job! Fuck this world!" 

Cas has no idea what to do. Frankly, he's terrified. "Dean, you're scaring me!" He takes a tentative step towards him, but Dean holds out a hand, pushes a palm to his temple. 

"Don't come near me, Cas, I don't wanna hurt you." He doesn't meet Cas' eyes. 

Cas feels his heart crackle and shatter. 

Dean continues his pacing, simply making aggravated, indiscernible noises. 

"Tell me what to do," Cas begs. 

Dean shakes his head, both hands fisted tightly in his hair. "I don't know what to do." Cas doesn't know whether or not that statement was for him. He feels defeated. He can't imagine how Dean must feel.

"Please just come down to the car with me. There's no point in staying up here, someone will come to move him soon." 

Dean shakes his head again, holding his face in his hands. He doesn't respond, so Cas takes a tentative step toward him. He doesn't back away, so he wraps his arms around Dean's neck. He feels his arms snake around his waist in a loose hold. 

"It'll be okay. Let's get out of here," Cas tells him as gently as he can. He moves one of his arms around Dean's waist and leads him to the stairwell. They don't speak as they take the stairs slowly, Cas practically holding all of Dean's weight. They make it to the bottom and head towards the Impala, Cas helping Dean into the passenger's seat before taking the driver's seat. 

He chances a glance at Dean, the silence inside the car overwhelming. Dean is staring forward, his eyes unfocused. 

"It'll be okay," Cas assures him again. Dean makes no effort to respond, to even acknowledge that he'd heard him. 

Cas silently wonders if he believes it himself.


End file.
